


Bleeding Stars

by Dreamfyre26



Series: Bleeding Stars Series [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Elia and Rhaegar get along, Elia and her kids live, Elia is into women, F/F, F/M, Jon Snow is a Targaryen, Lyanna Lives, Prophecy, R Plus L Equals J, Rhaegar Lives, Robert's Rebellion
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-23
Updated: 2019-04-01
Packaged: 2019-11-04 09:48:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 18
Words: 50,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17896196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dreamfyre26/pseuds/Dreamfyre26
Summary: Lyanna Stark struggles with her betrothal to Robert Baratheon while Prince Rhaegar dabbles in plots and prophecies, but soon finds his world turned upside down by a wild she-wolf.In short, an alternate take on Robert's Rebellion.AU-Story - Canon Divergence.





	1. Lyanna

**Lyanna**

Lyanna pulled her knees to her chest and listened to the rustling of the wind. Briefly, she closed her eyes and allowed herself to feel the cold air on her skin, hoping it would alleviate the hot anger boiling in her gut.

 _You are to wed Robert Baratheon_ , her Lord Father had informed her this very evening upon Ned’s arrival from the Eyrie. _You shall be Lady of Storm’s End._

She had been so shell-shocked that she had left her Lord Father and brothers standing there and had fled to the godswood.

Ever since, she had remained here, seeking refuge among the old gods. She hadn’t wept. Tears were for babies like Benjen, but she wished that she had taken one of Ser Roderik’s practice blades with her to ease her burning anger at a nearby tree.

She had always known that she would be wed, but Robert Baratheon was the last person that came to her mind.

She had met him only once when she had visited Ned in the Eyrie and had been more than confused by her brother’s admiration for the Lord of the Stormlands.

Robert Baratheon had little in common with Ned. He was brash, foolish and too convinced about his own self-importance. The way he had ogled her breasts whenever she lowered her head had reminded her of her brother Brandon, who was known to chase every skirt that came his way. Barbrey Ryswell had been his first and Lyanna was sure that many more would follow into her footsteps. She truly pitied his bride, Lady Catelyn Tully.

And while she was sure that Robert Baratheon must have some good qualities that Ned admired him so much, it was a completely different matter to spend the rest of her life with him in the far away Stormlands. That Robert Baratheon, not unlike her brother Brandon, had a reputation to fuck every kitchen maid that came his way only helped to increase her fears.

Lyanna knew that he had fathered a bastard girl on a girl in the Vale and while she held no dislike for the babe, it only increased her greatest fear. To be just another forgotten noble girl, like so many in Westeros.

She could see her dreadful future all too clearly. Now, in the bloom of her youth, Robert Baratheon may swear his undying love for her, but after she birthed  him two or three babes she would be forgotten.

That he didn’t seem to understand her at all or at least didn’t even make any attempts to speak to her, before making this proposal, had angered her even more.

They had met scarce a year ago and he was not known to be a shy man either. If he really wanted to know her, he could have at least spoken to her.

Yet none of this had happened. Instead, he had spent his days hunting and whoring.

No, it was surely not love that was driving Robert Baratheon’s actions, but lust or perhaps some sort of misguided infatuation.

Yet neither her father nor Ned would understand that. Ned, most of all seemed delighted by the idea to call Robert his future good-brother.

It was all so terrible unfair.

Again, the trees whispered and a flock of ravens soared over the azure sky. An icy gust of wind washed over her and made her shudder.

She had never felt this cold, but then she hadn’t even put on a cloak when she had fled from her father’s hall.

Shivering from head to toe, she rubbed her hands and bit her lips to drive a way the cold. For a moment she contemplated returning to the castle, but then another, more daring thought crossed her mind.

 _I could run away_ , she thought. _Benjen and I could live beyond the Wall with the wildlings and giants. Like in Old Nan’s stories. No way Robert Baratheon would be able to find me there._

She knew of course how silly that idea was. Her Father’s guards would find her before she made it to Mole’s Town and then she would be locked up until her marriage. Her father was not a man to tolerate disobedience, not even from his only daughter.

“There you are hiding, sister,” Ned’s voice startled her.

Lyanna couldn’t help but to frown, though it was their Lord Father who had made the final decision.

“Go away!” she grumbled and gathered a handful of snow in her hand, before throwing it at Ned. “I don’t want to see anyone!”

Her brother ducked out of the way, an amused smile curling on his lips.

“You still have a terrible aim,” he teased, but Lyanna proved him wrong. She had gathered another handful of snow and this time she had managed to hit Ned’s face.

Ned gasped and staggered backwards, landing with his ass on the frozen ground.

It was an empty victory though. No pain she inflicted upon Ned would remove the pesky betrothal with Robert Baratheon.

“My aim is not as bad as you thought, isn’t it, dear brother?” she asked and offered her hand to him. She was still angry, but she had taken her revenge and was satisfied with that.

“It seems I was wrong about that,” Ned remarked and pulled himself back to his feet. Then he stepped closer and graced her with a soft smile as he brushed her wind-swept hair out of her face.

“You have grown into a beauty,” Ned added suddenly. “No wonder Robert asked for your hand in marriage. He told me that he loved you from the first moment he saw you. He would never lie to me about something like that.”

“Oh, really?” she asked haughtily. “How much did he love me when he was bedding the mother of his babe? I was probably there in the Eyrie when the babe was conceived, but he never spoke to more than a few sentences nor did he try to get to know me. He doesn’t love me, he loves the sister you told him about, but not the true Lyanna.”

Ned frowned.

“I only told him only good things about you. I told him how beautiful, kind and charming you are…,” he began, but Lyanna couldn’t help but to cut him off.

“What about my interests?” she asked. “Did you tell him that I like running about in dirty breeches and that Benjen is secretly teaching me swordplay?

Ned paled and shook his head.

“Of course not. That would be unseemly,” he replied and sighed deeply. “You are no longer a little girl, Lyanna. You ought to let go of these childish dreams. Be happy, that father doesn’t know these secret lessons.”

“Are you going to tell, father?” she asked tauntingly. Ned was always the proper son and she loved him for it, but at times it was also bloody annoying.

“No,” Ned replied and frowned again. “I am not going to tell father, because I did not come here to fight, but to seek reconciliation. I understand your misgivings about Robert, but I assure you, sister. Robert is a good man and true and he will love you dearly.”

Lyanna sighed and was already feeling exhausted from this fruitless conversation. Ned didn’t even to understand her feelings.

“Love is sweet, dearest Ned, but it cannot change a man’s nature,” she replied and crossed her arms in front of her. “The same can be said of women. Robert Baratheon doesn’t have need of a woman like me. He has need of a lady, a very forgiving and patient lady, but patience is something I always lacked.”

Then she turned around and left him standing there.

She spoke to no one upon her return to the castle and immediately sought out her chambers. She needed peace and time to think.

“Lya, you are finally back,” Benjen’s voice greeted her as she stepped into her chamber. The sight of her younger brother, seated next to the hearth, filled her with joy. Benjen was always the closest to her heart. He understood her without words. The understanding Ned had denied her she would receive from Benjen.

“Did you send Ned after me?”

Benjen nodded his head in confirmation as he rose to his feet and took in her frozen appearance.

Lyanna smiled and rubbed her hands over the crackling fire, seeking warmth.

“I see,” she said softly and sat down on the bear belt, spread over the floor. Then she pulled off her boots and freed her hair from its’ braid. It had gotten wet. “Don’t fret, I am not angry with you, little brother. What else did I miss? Is father very angry?”

“I don’t think so,” Benjen replied quietly and sat down next to her, his hand touching her shoulder. “He only said, ‘This wolf child will be the death of me’ and retired early.”

“I am glad,” Lyanna lied and kissed Benjen’s brow. “That he is not too angry.”

“You are not,” Benjen said, knowing her true feelings without words. “It is wrong of father to force you into this and I don’t want you to go away. I want you to stay here in the North.”

Lyanna chuckled sadly and smoothed his brown hair.

“There is nothing we can do, but perhaps Robert Baratheon will allow you to become his squire. Then I could keep you at my side.”

Benjen gave her a sad look and shrugged his shoulders.

“Father I think wants to send me to Riverrun to squire for the Blackfish.”

“I see,” Lyanna said and hugged him again. Then she let go of him and leaned back on the balls of her hand. “Well, at least I won’t have to see Robert Baratheon until Brandon’s wedding.”

“You are very wrong about that, sister,” Benjen informed her in a subdued voice. “You will see him soon.”

Lyanna furrowed her brows, her stomach twisting.

“How so?”

“There is going to be a grand tourney at Harrenhall. Father wants us to attend in his stead.”

Under other circumstances, Lyanna would have been filled with excitement to attend a tourney, but the prospect of meeting Robert Baratheon dimmed her joy.

It seemed not only Ned and her father were plotting to see her wed to the Lord of the Stormlands, but fate as well.

Fuck fate.

…


	2. Rhaegar

**Rhaegar**

Once he had readied his saddle, Rhaegar pulled his cloak over his braided hair and led his horse out of the stables.

It was a beautiful day. The crowns of the trees were a brilliant green and the sun felt pleasant on his skin. The ruins of Harrenhall were massive, much bigger than Summerhall had ever been, but Rhaegar felt not the same melancholy he felt whenever he was visiting his birthplace.

Harrenhall was different. It was a place that showed the power of house Targaryen. _Fire and Blood_ , as the saying went, though there was little left of House Targaryen’s past might. Rhaegar had realized this the first time he had laid eyes on the ruins of the Dragonpit. Once the Dragonpit had been filled with countless dragons, but all of this had been destroyed through the Dance of Dragons. It was a pity and never failed to fill his heart with sadness to think of the fate of the dragons.

_Mayhaps house Targaryen will soon find the same fate_ , he thought as he led his horse along the colorful barracks and tents that lined the inner courtyards of Harrenhall. Lords and Ladies from all over Westeros had travelled here to partake in the tourney. Even his father had suddenly decided to leave the Red Keep and had destroyed his plans.

_That was the Spiders’ work_ , he was convinced, but could voice such thoughts only in front of his friends, Jon Connington, Ser Arthur Dayne, Ser Oswell Whent, Ser Myles Mooton and good Ser Richard Lonmouth.

Just thinking about it filled him with anger, but there was naught he could do. This battle was lost, but many more awaited him in the future.

The rumors that Rickard Stark intended to wed his only daughter to his cousin Robert Baratheon had only helped to increase his worries. The first match between his oldest son Brandon Stark and Lady Catelyn Tully could have been called a mere coincidence, but not the match between Robert Baratheon and Lyanna Stark. This was the forming of an alliance that would bind the North, the Stormlands and the Riverlands by blood. That Jon Arryn, the Lord of the Vale, was known to hold almost fatherly affections for Robert Baratheon and Eddard Stark, only increased his

Sadly, his Lord Father seemed completely unaware of these brewing plots, another courtesy by the bloody Spider.

“May I ask where we are riding, your grace?” Arthur’s worried voice filled his ears. He didn’t like that Rhaegar had asked of him to remove his white cloak and that they were riding around without guards, but Rhaegar needed time to breathe and to think. Elia’s presence here didn’t help either, but that was another lost cause. He had told her to remain at Dragonstone, least the babe or her get harmed, but her pride didn’t allow it. Sadly, not even her pride, could rid her of her sickly health, something the Dornish had conveniently neglected to mention when they offered her as a bride. Rhaenys’ birth had been perilous enough, but this babe might be the end of her.

Truly, it had been a pain for him to bed her with this terrifying knowledge resting on his mind and yet the realm needed an heir. If Rhaegar were to perish in battle he needed to leave the Seven Kingdoms to a worthy heir, but his father was mad and Viserys was becoming more and more his father’s creature.

_The dragon has three heads_ , he recalled the strange visions that had plagued him since early childhood.

More than once, he had dreamed of the Long Night and the terrors that came with it. Dead man walking and ice men ruling the world. Yet he had also seen the remedy for these horrors. Only dragons, fire made flesh, would be able to defeat the powers of ice.

_The Prince that was Promised_ , he knew and recalled the prophecy his grandfather Jaehaerys had believed in. _A prince meant to bring back eternal spring._

Yet such a prince or hero had not only been mentioned in prophecies, but in many tales of old and times long past. His name differed from land to land, but all these stories were connected by one fact that remained the same: that said hero or prince had banished away the darkness that had threatened to sallow the world.

The Long Night.

For a long time, Rhaegar had believed himself to be this promised prince, but now he knew that this was another folly. He had been born amidst salt and smoke, but his dreams always showed him a brown-haired boy with dark eyes like his. More than once he had tried to find Elia’s and his own features’ in the boy’s face, but his face had been too long, too solemn to belong to a Martell or a Targaryen.

_May I be wrong_ , he thought as he led his horse along the muddy road, past another row of tents. Ladies fluttered around him, page boys hopped out of the way and the soft voice of a minstrel filled his ears. _May this babe be our promised prince._

As they passed another tent, they suddenly heard the shouts. Rhaegar stopped abruptly and angled his head in the direction of the voices and found soon what he was searching for.

He counted six people, but what exactly had happened between them was hard to say. One of them was cowering on the ground while two others were fighting off three larger boys with wooden practice blades. Even from afar, he could hear the cries and whimpers of the three boys, who fled moments later, leaving nothing but dust in their wake.

“What was going on there?” Arthur asked.

“A fight,” Rhaegar replied, an amused smile curling on his lips. “And it seems the weaker party won. We would ask them if they need help.”

“Do you think that is wise, your grace?”

“No, but one of them seems hurt,” Rhaegar countered and kicked his feet into the sides of his horse.

Behind him he heard Arthur’s complaints, but Rhaegar’s attention was already directed elsewhere, namely the three strangers. At first, he had thought them to be squires, but he was more than surprised when he found a girl among them. She was clad in dirty breeches and a white tunic, but her even-shaped face, full lips and long brown hair betrayed revealed her identity.

“Beware, strangers! This man is under my father’s protection, Lord Rickard Stark of Winterfell and Warden of the North!” the girl shouted and raised her practice blade. She couldn’t be much older than ten and four, but that serious expression of hers made her look older than her years, though it didn’t dim her beauty one bit.

It was a strange beauty. Elia face was soft, but this girl’s features were sharp and unyielding, like the glowering look she was giving him.

And yet he couldn’t help but to be amused by the girl’s bravery. It took a lot of guts to threaten a stranger and it took even more guts to threaten a Prince, though she didn’t know that.

That she was his cousin’s betrothed only helped to increase his interest.

“Have no fear, Lady Lyanna,” he assured her and raised his hand in a sign of peace. “We saw your peril and merely wanted to inquire whether you or your friends are in need of help.”

The mention of her name only deepened her frown.

“How do you know my name?” she asked mistrustfully.

Rhaegar couldn’t help but to smile.

“You mentioned that Lord Rickard Stark is your father. Even in the south we know the name of Rickard Stark’s only daughter.”

“It seems you are famous, sister!” one of Lady Lyanna’s companions added. It was a boy, who shared her sharp face and her brown hair. This must be one of her brothers, perhaps the youngest, though Rhaegar forgot his name.

“Oh, shut your bloody mouth, Benjen!” Lyanna snapped angrily and stepped closer, her wolf eyes eying him from head to toe.

“Who are you?” she asked, trying to glimpse under the hood of his cloak.

“Ser Richard,” Rhaegar lied and pointed at Arthur. “And this is Ser Oliver. We serve the Prince of Dragonstone.”

Then he shifted his attention to the young man, garbed all in green. Blood was dripping from his mouth and his face was littered with bruises.

“I already know that you are Benjen Stark and Lady Lyanna Stark, but your friend has yet to introduce himself. He also looks in dire need of a Maester if I may say so.”

Yet Lady Lyanna remained mistrustful as ever.

“Why should I trust you, Ser?”

“Why not?”

“Because you are a bloody stranger.”

“Bloody here and bloody there,” Rhaegar teased her. The scowl cast on her face only helped to enhance the girl’s wild beauty. “You really have a sharp tongue for a Lady.”

“Do not call me my Lady!” she snapped, but Benjen pulled on her arm and silenced her.

“Please forgive her, Ser,” Benjen apologized and helped the wounded man to his feet. “We brought no Maester with us, but as you can see Lord Howland Reed is in dire need of help.”

Rhaegar dipped his head in understanding.

“The Prince of Dragonstone has a Maester in his employ,” Rhaegar explained. “I am sure he has a moment to spare for Lord Reed.”

“Why would the Prince of Dragonstone care about us?”

Rhaegar smiled.

“The Prince of Dragonstone won’t mind. This I can promise you, my Lady,” he assured her and waved his hand at Ser Arthur. “Ser Oliver will lead you to Maester Gaerion.”

Arthur gave him a stunned looked.

“Is that so?”

“That is so, Ser Oliver. We shall also have need of your horse. A wounded man shouldn’t be forced to walk.”

“I understand,” Arthur replied and soon they were helping Lord Reed on Ser Arthur’s horse.

“I thank you, my friends,” the man thanked them once he was seated in the saddle. “I shall not forget your kindness.”

“No need, Lord Reed,” Lyanna Stark assured him and walked next to the horse led by Arthur. Rhaegar had long climbed back into his saddle, but was leading his horse in a slow pace. “These squires got what they deserved. Next time I will drag them before my brother to face justice. You only have to tell us if they try harming you again, my Lord.”

“I shall,” Lord Reed confirmed, but seemed hesitant. He swayed in his saddle, but smiled at Rhaegar and Ser Arthur.

“I have to thank you as well, good Ser,” Lord Reed replied kindly and dipped his head. “Your kindness shall not be forgotten.”

Rhaegar nodded his head and soon they were making their way back to the camp.

Rhaegar kept his head lowered, least someone recognized him, but his fear was unfounded. They were able to enter the camp without problems.

Not long after, Rhaegar excused himself and pretended that he had to take care of the horses while Arthur led the Starks and Lord Reed to Maester Gaerion.

Thus, the Prince of Dragonstone spent the evening in company of stable boys and squires alike. At first, they were confused by his presence, but soon they readily helped him taking care of the horses. Once they were finished, they sat down and offered him a cup of wine, telling him japes and tales they had heard about the lords and ladies attending the tourney.

Arthur returned hours later, his face weary from the long day.

“It seems you enjoyed yourself, your grace,” he remarked as they left the stables behind them. The fresh air was pleasant, but his mood was dimmed when he thought of the coming feast. He would have to face his father, a man he had tried to stay away from over the last year.

“Did Maester Gaerion attend to Lord Reed?” Rhaegar asked, as they made their way through the crowd of people. “Did he sell me out?”

“No,” Arthur assured him. “All is well, but Princess Elia will be asking why your Maester was attending to a stranger.”

Rhaegar shrugged his shoulders as they neared his pavilion.

“It is me,” he explained to the guards and pulled down the hood of his cloak. They immediately dropped their spears and allowed him entrance to his tent.

Inside, he found a warm fire and Elia in company of Lady Ashara Dayne.

Lady Ashara’s smiled brightly when she noticed Arthur and quickly pulled her brother out of the tent.

“You are back,” Elia stated, but didn’t rise from her chair. She was garbed in fine red dress, her black hair coiled atop her head with a red ruby. She looked elegant, but incredible frail, despite her swollen belly. “And you stink. Did you sleep in the stables, Rhaegar?”

Rhaegar shrugged his shoulders.

“I didn’t sleep there. I was hiding.”

Elia frowned, like his mother used to do when he had too much cake.

“Have you been playing one of your mummeries?” she asked and sighed deeply as she leaned forward.

Rhaegar nodded his head and sat down. Then he started to pull off his dirty boots and cloak.

“I needed fresh air, before I am going to face my father and along the way we came about the Stark children, defending a certain Lord Howland Reed of Greywater Watch against three pesky squires. Lord Reed looked badly hurt and thus I offered our help. Of course, I didn’t reveal myself to them, least father thinks I am conspiring with the enemy.”

“He always thinks that,” Elia pointed out and smiled weakly. “And he is going to embarrass us tonight.”

“I know,” Rhaegar confirmed and shrugged his shoulders as he rose back to his feet. “And that is why I need to get a proper bath, least I smell like a stable boy.”

“Your clothes are laid out for you,” Elia called after him, but Rhaegar had barely heard her. His mind was darting back to the Stark girl…

…


	3. Lyanna

**Lyanna**

Lyanna wouldn’t be surprised if she would soon turn into a puddle. The heat of a hundred hearths was too much for someone like her, born and bred in the North.

She felt almost overwhelmed by all these new sensations. There was the smell of roasted pig mixing with the sweet scent of wine and the sour smell of ale. The voices of the singers rang softly in her ears as they played up a merry tune for the guests.

Ladies and Lords danced, Robert Baratheon and Brandon were getting drunk in company of a certain Ser Richard Lonmouth while Ned was staring longingly at a Lady, garbed in a pale violet dress. All the while Benjen was peppering Lord Reed with questions about his home, who tried his best to answer them all, but that was hard enough, given that her brother had the tendency to speak like a waterfall.

Lyanna felt no enjoyment. She only felt misery, garbed as she was in this tight dress made of Myrish silk. It was a very beautiful dress her father had commissioned for her to impress Robert, but he had hardly taken notice of it. Fondling inappropriate places while they were dancing was far more interesting to him.

“Who are you staring at, Ned?” Brandon suddenly asked and slung his hand around Ned’s shoulder. He was horribly drunk and Lyanna could smell his wine-tinged breath from afar.

“No one,” Ned refused to answer, but Brandon had already laid eyes on the lady.

“Gods, now that is a beauty!” Brandon exclaimed, his eyes alight with admiration. He looked like a man lost in the desert, thirsting for a cup of water. “Who is this fair maid, I wonder?”

“I think that is Lady Ashara Dayne,” Lyanna replied. She had spoken to her when they brought Lord Reed to the Maester. “She is the sister of Ser Arthur Dayne, the Sword of the Morning.”

“Did you hear, Ned?” Brandon asked. “You should ask her to dance.”

Ned gave him a mortified look.

“I can’t…she is…” Ned stuttered, but Brandon was already gone.

It didn’t surprise here when Lady Ashara joined them later and graced Ned with a smile. Brandon was always a charmer.

“Your brother told me that you desire a dance, my Lord?” she asked kindly. “Shall we?”

Ned looked as if he had been showered with gold, but soon regained his composure and dipped his head.

“It would be my pleasure.”

“Well done,” She told Brandon later and patted his shoulder, but the way he longingly stared at Lady Ashara told her that he wanted her too. “But mayhaps you should direct your eyes elsewhere, brother. You will be wed within a year and I doubt Ser Arthur Dayne would be pleased if you got too cozy to his sister.”

“The same goes for you, sweet sister,” Brandon replied teasingly and returned to his drinking companions.

Lyanna had a curse on her tongue, but she kept her mouth shut, least someone heard her.

Instead she directed her attention to the royal family, who was seated on a raised platform on the front of the hall. The King was seated in the middle, his untidy silver hair falling over his shoulders and his long fingernails picking on his food. His son and heir was seated next to him, but seemed just as bored as her. Occasionally, he spoke to his wife, Princess Elia Martell, a dark-haired woman of fragile stature, but there was not even the hint of a smile apparent on his lips.

 _He doesn’t seem to like his father’s presence_ , she thought as she tried to make out his features. Rhaegar was known far and wide for his beauty and even Lyanna had to agree that there was something otherworldly about his silver hair. It looked like a waterfall of moonlight or silver and though she could not make out the details of his features she was sure that his face was just as pleasant to behold.

Lyanna didn’t know why, but she continued to watch him from afar. Even when Ned had long returned from his dance with Lady Ashara did she continued to observe him.

Only after the King and Princess Elia had retired did he move from his position and suddenly the herald was calling the guests to attention.

“The Prince is going to grace us with a song!” the herald declared loudly and a heartbeat later Prince Rhaegar received a golden harp wrought in three dragon heads, its eyes made from shining rubies.

By the time Prince Rhaegar had taken his seat, the hall was eerily silent. Safe for Brandon and Robert of course, who promptly opened their bloody mouths.

“There you have the might of House Targaryen,” Robert snickered. “A minstrel.”

“He looks prettier like most wenches I have bedded,” Brandon agreed and laughed.

“Lower your voices. This is a feast, not a tavern,” Ned chided them, but Robert and Brandon continued their exchange by whispering into each other’s ears.

Lyanna ignored them and continued to watch Prince Rhaegar, who started to speak, his voice a low and strangely familiar.

“This song is dedicated to Lord Whent, the host of this grand event.”

Then he started to play, his hands washing over the harp in quick and practiced strokes. His voice changed to a softer tune as the words left his mouth. Jenny of Oldstones’ was a melancholic song, but it suited the Prince’ voice.

She didn’t know why, but the song moved something inside her, something she had long-buried. It reminded her of the lullabies her mother used to sing for her and Benjen when they were small. It reminded her of Old Nan’s saddest tales and the longing of two lovers that shouldn’t be together.

Lyanna sniffed and brushed her tears away that wetted her cheeks, but it was already too late.

Benjen had noticed her tears and was howling with laughter.

“I can’t believe it! Lya is crying!”

Lyanna’s sadness was promptly exchanged with another feeling. Embarrassment and anger.

“Shut your bloody mouth!” she hissed at Benjen, but he continued to laugh, holding his stomach.

It was too much.

Lyanna didn’t think when she grasped her cup and poured it over Benjen’s head. Within the blink of a moment, Benjen was covered in sweet summer wine.

Yet she he had accomplished her goal, at least momentarily.

A heartbeat later, Brandon, Robert and Ned were rolling with laughter. Even the ever-solemn Howland Reed laughed.

Lyanna smiled as well, basking in her triumph and enjoying Benjen’s dumb-founded expression.

She only regretted that she hadn’t heard the rest of the Prince’s performance, because he was already gone when she shifted her attention back to the high table.

Robert and Brandon were nearly falling from the table when Lyanna decided she needed fresh air and excused herself.

She breathed deeply as stepped out into the courtyard drenched in moonlight. A fat moon stood on the star-streaked sky, teasing her, like Benjen had done an hour ago.

Birds took flight as she passed black walls and bent towers. There was an odd beauty to this castle and it made her wonder how it had looked before Aegon the Conqueror had unleashed his dragons upon King Harren’s stronghold.

Walking over a patch of grass, lined with trees she felt the sudden urge to pull off her slippers and to put her toes in the fresh grass.

She watched left and right, to make sure that nobody saw her and then she quickly pulled off her slippers. She sighed at how soft the grass felt and walked to one of the trees. It was a large an old tree, but lacked the beauty of a weirwood tree.

Yet the smell of wood and the whispering of the leaves gave her comfort and helped to settle her nerves.

It made her wonder if Storm’s End had a godswood, though she knew what a silly notion that was. No godswood could compare to the godswood of Winterfell.

“Have you lost your shoes, my Lady?” a familiar voice startled her.

Lyanna’s head shot up and she was even more stunned when she found a familiar smile curling on his lips.

Lyanna blinked once, twice and a third time, but it was no mistake. The young man in front of her was unmistakably Prince Rhaegar Targaryen, but his features also resembled a man who had called himself Ser Richard, a knight in the service of the Prince of Dragonstone.

Now that his silver hair was bared to her, she realized her folly.

“It is you…,” she stuttered helplessly, and backed away, her feet still bare. “You are the Crown Prince. You…you fooled me.”

“So, I did,” he confirmed in a mild, albeit teasing tone. “But I had good intentions. My Lord Father would not appreciate it if we spoke to each other. He mistrusts everyone around him.”

Lyanna nodded her head and eyed him more closely. His appearance tonight was a far cry from what he had worn in the evening. He had donned a shining black doublet, silken breeches and polished boots. Only his cloak was dyed red and held together by a ruby pin.

“Then the Kings friends must be few,” she replied for a lack of better words. Her cheeks burned with embarrassment when she thought back on how she had addressed him. _Gods, he could take my head for this!_

Surpassingly, Prince Rhaegar started to laugh. It was a deep and warm laugh, so unlike his quiet demeanor tonight.

“Aye, my father’s friends are few indeed,” the Prince remarked in good-humor and offered his arm to her. “We should take a walk, but I would advise to put on her your shoes.”

Lyanna was startled.

“Why?” she asked mistrustfully.

“To speak about our common friend, Lord Howland Reed,” the Prince explained, a ghost of a smile tugging on his lips. “Why else?”

“I see,” she replied and took his arm, albeit still mistrustful of his intentions. “What do you want to know?”

“Is Lord Reed well?”

“He is well,” she confirmed and marveled at the warmth of his body. “But he is still deeply shamed about what happened. I wish there was a way to punish these squires.”

“I am sure you will find a way to help him,” Prince Rhaegar encouraged her gently.

Lyanna didn’t know what to make of his words. Was he serious or trying to tease her?”

And why was her bloody heart beating as if it wanted to run away.

“You hardly know me.”

“True,” Prince Rhaegar confirmed and graced her this time with a full smile. “But you managed to fight off three squires with a practice blade. Not many ladies would be able to do that and you don’t give the impression of someone who gives up easily.”

Again, she didn’t know what to make of his words. Was he flattering her or trying to fool her?

“I see.”

“You are pretty-tongue tied tonight,” Prince Rhaegar japed and pulled her along, towards a winding archway. “In the evening you were cursing me.”

“That was a mistake,” she admitted, trying to suppress the annoyance bubbling inside her. He was teasing her and she couldn’t speak freely. “Forgive me, your grace.”

“No need,” Prince Rhaegar told her and chuckled lightly. He had a pretty smile, but there was something sad about it. “I enjoyed being cursed by you, my Lady. Most people at court would never dare to be as blunt as you. It was a change of fresh air, just like when you poured that cup over your brother’s head.”

Lyanna’s cheeks burned with embarrassment and she freed herself from his loose grip.

“You saw that?”

“I did,” Prince Rhaegar confirmed and stepped closer, his warm breath brushing her cheek. “I also noticed that you were crying. A wonderous sight indeed.”

“I didn’t cry!” Lyanna lied, but his knowing smile told her that he didn’t believe her. “It must have been an illusion.”

“Just as you,” Prince Rhaegar teased softly and lifted his hand to brush a loose curl from her face. “Nobody can know that we spoke, especially not my passionate cousin.”

Lyanna nodded.

“We are betrothed.”

“So, I have heard,” the Prince stated. “But you don’t seem very elated about it? Why else would you be here and not with him?”

Lyanna did her best to be calm. There was something annoying and utterly confusing about this whole conversation.

She should dislike him, but she didn’t.

“Lord Robert is enjoying himself with his bannermen and my brothers. He is also horrible drunk, which means you should indeed keep this meeting a secret.”

“I see,” the Prince said. “But you have yet to answer my question. Do you like my cousin? Has he captured your heart?”

She considered lying, but this was the bloody Crown Prince.

“Not my heart,” Lyanna admitted openly. “But he has captured my brother’s heart. My father cares not what he is like as long as he can call the Lord of the Stormlands his son-in-law. It is all about duty and honor.”

“Ah, I think I know what you mean, my Lady,” the Prince agreed and nodded his head. “My mother used to give me the same speech.”

Lyanna couldn’t help but to smile. It felt good to speak openly with someone.

“It’s all horseshit if you ask me. This is not about duty and honor, but power. It’s our Maester’s fault. He put these ambitions into my father’s head.”

“Maester Walys,” Prince Rhaegar confirmed. “I heard about him.”

Lyanna was stunned, but then he was the Crown Prince. She supposed he had to know such things.

“Can you do something about him?” she asked jestingly.

Prince Rhaegar chuckled and leaned closer.

“I fear I have no such powers, my Lady,” he said and reached out to take her hand. Lyanna had barely enough time to pull her hand away, before he had placed a featherlight kiss on her knuckles. “But I wish I could find a way to help you with your misery. There is nothing worse than a loveless marriage. My Lady Mother suffers under it every day.”

Then, he let go of her hand and his smile was suddenly sad and distant, as if he was no longer there.

“I shall leave you now,” Prince Rhaegar declared abruptly and lowered his head. “It is getting late. I hope we meet again.”

Then, he was gone as quickly as he had appeared.

Lyanna was left confused, her heart hammering away in her chest.

What the blood hell had just happened?

…


	4. Ned

**Ned**

Ned’s head felt heavy from last night’s activities. The first feast had lasted late into the night and he had the honor to dance with the most beautiful woman of the tourney. Even now he recalled her beautiful face, her kind smile and the heavy smell of her rose perfume.

At times he had avoided looking at her, fearing she might be insulted by his staring and had focused his attention elsewhere. The guests, the walls or her slippers. Truly, had had made a fool out of himself, but that was the nature of Eddard Stark. He may be the most honorable young man Jon Arryn has ever known, but in such moments, Ned wished he had something of Brandon's charm.

 _His smile would be enough_ , he thought as she washed his face in the nearby water basin. The water was luke warm, but served its purpose. To wake him from the wine-induced sleep he had fallen into after banishing away his shame with a cup of wine.

 _I am such a fool_ , he thought and felt the familiar stirring of anger in his guts. He knew that he shouldn’t feel that way, but he couldn’t help it when he saw Brandon disappearing with Lady Ashara Dayne.

Ned shouldn’t have been surprised. He knew Brandon’s nature better than anyone. He had bedded his first girl when he was ten and three and Ned doubted he would ever stop, which was the reason he felt such agitation when he thought of Lady Ashara. It was a mix of jealousy and worry that filled him when he thought of his brother taking her maidenhead.

And it wasn’t the first time he had done this either. Everyone in the North knew that Brandon had taken Barbrey Ryswell’s maidenhead after promising to wed her. Their father had of course refused to agree to such a match as he had long been planning the allegiance with the Riverlands, but Ned doubted Brandon had cared much about the Lady’s feelings.

Only a moon later he had departed for Riverrun to meet up with Lady Catelyn while Barbrey Ryswell was left weeping for her lost maidenhead. Until this day Ned didn’t know what their Lord Father had given Lord Ryswell in return to still his anger.

And while Ned hadn’t cared much about Lady Barbrey, his heart filled with great sorrow when he thought of Lady Ashara Dayne.

 _Has she already given her maidenhead to him_ , he fretted and had the sudden urge to ask his brother.

Knowing Brandon, he would even bask in his glory and ask Ned in a playful manner to forgive him, like he had done so often in the past, though these quarrels had usually not concerned women.

 _It is no use_ , Ned thought and banished Lady Ashara from his mind and heart.  _Brothers shouldn’t quarrel about a woman._

Then he pulled on a fresh tunic, breeches and his boots, before leaving his tent behind. The sky was still tinged in a soft pink color, the song of a cuckoo bird filling his ears as he passed Lyanna’s and Benjen’s tents. Both were gone or so the guards told him, which dimmed his mood even more.

A whole day had gone by and Lyanna and Robert had yet to speak to each other more than a few sentences, though he had to admit grudgingly that this past mostly Robert’s fault. Instead of speaking to his sister he had spent the night drinking with Brandon and Richard Lonmouth.

 _So much for my high words_ , he thought and straightened his grey silken cloak around his shoulders as he continued onwards to the camp of the Stormlords, where he would find Robert, hopefully in a less drunken state than yesterday.

Robert was breaking his fast in company of his a handful of his bannermen, but he sent them away when he laid eyes on Ned.

“You look like shit, Ned,” He laughed and waved his hand at the empty chair. “It seems the wine didn’t become you.”

Ned had to agree and allowed himself to fall back into the chair. Not much to his surprise, Robert was pouring himself another cup. Fresh summer wine if Ned was not mistaken. His favourite.

“It is not so much the wine, but the quantity,” Ned added at last and shook his head when Robert was about to fill another cup. “I think I will never drink again.”

Robert drank deeply and then started to laugh, slapping his chest in amusement.

“Sometimes you are really a girl, Ned,” his friend remarked and placed the cup back on the table. “So, Brandon bedded that Dayne girl. I admit, she was quite the beauty, but there are hundreds of other women for you, Ned. All you must do is look around you and pluck a beautiful flower.”

“That’s you, not me,” Ned replied and brushed his hair out of his face. “I have nothing to offer. Neither beauty nor riches. I am only a second son.”

Robert frowned and kicked him hard.

Ned cried out in pain and gave Robert a hard look.

“What was that for?” he asked.

“For looking down at yourself like this. So, this Ashara Dayne rejected you. Fuck her, I say. She doesn’t deserve you. Smile and enter the list. Show them what you are made of.”

Ned frowned at that.

“I am not much of a jouster, Robert.

“Who says something about jousting. I was talking about the melee. I am going to partake.”

Ned sighed, trying to picture himself partaking in such an event. He was no bad swordsman by any means, but he felt as if he was about to vomit on the ground if he moved too quickly while Robert looked as if he was already prepared to launch himself back into battle.

“I feel weary,” Ned replied. “I suppose I am going to watch the jousting competition and perhaps the melee. It’s on the fourth day, isn’t it?”

“Aye,” Robert confirmed. "I am going to win this. I can feel it in my bones.”

Ned wished he had Robert’s enthusiasm, but this was no small competition. The most-gifted fighters of the realm would partake in the melee, but Robert didn’t seem bothered by this fact.

“How can you be so sure that you are going to win?”

Robert grinned broadly and leaned back in his chair.

“How can I lose if I have your sister’s favor?”

Ned was surprised by this turn of events and a bit relieved.

“You asked her?”

“Not yet,” Robert replied. “I wanted to do it this morning, but when I went to seek her out the guards told me that she went exploring with your brother.”

Ned sighed deeply and tried to suppress his frustration.

_Why are making it so hard, sister?_

“I shall search for her later,” Ned promised, but Robert waved with his hand, as if to show him that this was no bother to him.

“Leave her be. I am sure she will return quickly enough,” he told Ned and leaned over to pat his shoulder. “And now we shall watch jousting competition. I want to see of what mettle Lord Whent’s sons are made of."

Ned held little interest in the jousting competition, but he needed to distract his mind.

“Very well,” Ned agreed at last and followed his old friend. “Let’s watch the tilt.”

As the Lord Paramount of the Stormlands, Robert had received a good place, not far from the royal family, though Ned would have dearly wished to keep his distance from the Mad King.

Just looking at him made his stomach twist. He looked like a walking corpse, his long silver hair falling around his face like a shroud. Yet it were his lilac eyes that betrayed his madness. There was something ever watchful and anxious in the way he regarded the people around him, among them his own son.

Like the night before the Prince was seated at the side of his father, only today he had donned his black armor and a fiery-red cloak. Looking at him it was hard to believe that the King had sired this dignified young man.

“Isn’t our Princeling beautiful, Ned?” Robert asked in mocking tone. “At times it is hard not to mistake him for a woman.”

Ned couldn’t help but to be amused, but he also felt a hint of irritation. It wasn’t the first time that he noticed Robert’s dislike for the Prince of Dragonstone, but he kept his thoughts to himself.

“Prince Rhaegar is a comely man,” Ned remarked and leaned closer. “And the maids certainly like him. Even Lyanna wept over his sad song.”

“I saw it,” Robert said in sour tone and patted his shoulder, to direct his attention to the tiltyard. “And now let’s watch. That’s what we came for. Mayhaps we your brother will get himself unhorsed. That would help to pay him back for his unbrotherly behavior towards you.”

 _And towards Lady Ashara_ , Ned thought as the first riders took their respective placed at the other side of the yard. It was the oldest of Lord Whent’s sons who defended his sister’s title against his enemy, Ser Jon Darry, one of the members of the Kingsguard.

It was a brief joust, for after the second round young Lord Whent found himself kissing the dirt. Luckily, Lord Whent had several sons, though if this first match was any indication, he doubted it would take long, before someone claimed the crown from Lady Whent.

“What a disappointment,” Robert grumbled. “Let’s hope the next competitor is better.”

Indeed the next competitor proved much better. That it was their old friend Gilwood Hunter only helped to lighten their mood. He had travelled here in company of Lord Jon Connington and his father, Lord Eon Hunter. Like Robert he was a fearsome hunter, though he was rather shy around ladies like Ned.

“Poor Frey, boy,” Robert japed after he had watched the two riders collide, sending the knight from House Frey flying into the dirt. Lying unmoving on the ground and his horse in a frenzy it took two of his squires to get him back to his feet and his horse under control. “Good that this old cunt Walder Frey fathered hundreds of them.”

“True,” Ned agreed and shifted his attention back to the competition.

The next six competitions were as unremarkable as the first one. Most of them ended with broken lances, but remained seated on their horses. Still, by the end of the first day, Lord Whent’s sons had lost their sister’s crown. It was a rather shameful performance, given the fact that the whole tourney was meant to last  several days.

Robert seemed unhappy as well. “Lord Whent’s sons are dolts. The only good one was Gilman Hunter. Well, let’s hope the competition will get better on the morrow or the perhaps the day after that, whenever Brandon is riding in the tilt. We made a bet.”

“A bet?” Ned asked. “About what?”

“Brandon promised to unhorse the Princeling for me.”

Ned was not surprised to hear that. Like Robert, Brandon held nothing but scorn for the Targaryens. Sister-fuckers he liked to call them. Ned himself had never concerned himself much with the Targaryens, but the rumors about King Aerys had not disappointed. It wouldn’t surprise Ned if his son would try to depose his father in the near future.

In truth, they had heard rumors, that this very tourney was part of the Prince’s plans to rid himself of his father, but with the King’s presence here it was very unlikely. Ned doubted Prince Rhaegar would dare to be this brazen, but then he also heard that the Targaryens were known to have a fiery temper.

“Did you hear what I said, Ned?” Robert’s voice snapped him back from his deep thoughts.

“Aye,” Ned confirmed and his gaze flickered back to Prince Rhaegar. He was still seated next to his father, his dark gaze distant and cold. “I am sure Brandon will defeat the Prince for you.”

Ned had heard from Richard Lonmouth that the Prince was an excellent jouster.

Ned knew it was wrong to think like that, but he hoped that the Prince would pay his prideful brother a lesson.

…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I might sound whiny, but I would appreciate if people would give me constructive feedback on my writing (characterization and plot). I don't expect thirty comments or anything from readers, because this is fan-fic, but I put a lot of effort into writing this and all I get his troll comments. English is not my native language and so my spelling and grammar might not be perfect, but I am trying to improve, which is partly the reason I started writing this story. Obviously, for some reason, L x R are hated in this fandom since the show reveal, but I love the pair and I would appreciate it if the trolls leave and go to other stories. There are plenty of anti R+ L stories on this fansite, even more so than positive ones. Read them and leave my story alone. I am sick and tired of having to defend a pairing that I like. There are plenty of pairings that I dislike, but I do not go to stories of said pairings and harass writers by calling them "asshole" and other insults.
> 
> My tags might be a bit confusing, but this story won't end like Robert's Rebellion. There will also be plenty of twists that didn't happen in canon. Currently, I am going to the tourney, because it is kinda build-up for the real stuff.
> 
> And yes. I am not a fan of Robert Baratheon and Brandon Stark. The first one is a man who rejoiced over the death of innocent children and the other one was a bully. Say what you want about Littlefinger, but Brandon nearly killed him for fun, just because he could. He was a bully and I also think he dishonored Lady Ashara Dayne. I don't think Ned had it in him to take a woman's maidenhead before marriage. He was to honourable for that.
> 
> And yes, Elia is actually into women in this story and not into men. She likes Rhaegar as a friend and companion, but not as a lover. She desires Ashara Dayne, who kinda likes both women and men, but is more into men.


	5. Lyanna

**Lyanna**

The heavy armor made her feel as if she carried a bag of stones on her shoulders. That she was barely a head taller than the average squire made it only harder to find the right set of armor. Most knights were battled-hardened warriors and not young girls like her.

Thus, Lyanna, Benjen and Lord Howland Reed had spent the evening searching the armory for fitting pieces. Fitting parts for the arms and feet weren’t hard to find, but to find a fitting breastplate made for a thin girl like had proved quite the challenge.

Now after Benjen and Lord Reed had helped her fit on her mismatched armor, she dared to take a glimpse of herself in the small looking-glass her father had gifted her to her for her last nameday. Seeing herself dressed like this, she couldn’t help but grin. Her father would be angry with her if he knew about this, but her excitement was made her forget her fear of punishment.

After her sixteenth nameday she would be shipped off to Storm’s End where she would wither away as Robert Baratheon’s lady. She was determined to make the best of her last days of freedom, even if it meant to defy the laws of gods and men alike.

“You look well,” Benjen remarked and pulled one of the armpieces tighter. “Well, it is not about the looks, but the performance.”

“Benjen speaks true,” Lord Reed agreed and smiled mildly. He was a shy man like Ned, but he lacked her brother’s preachy manner. Ned would chide her for doing this, but Lord Reed had helped her as best as possible. “But I fear for you, my Lady. You mustn’t endanger yourself on my account.”

“Don’t fret, my Lord Reed,” She assured him and patted her helmet with both hands. “I am a good rider. Benjen can vouch for me.”

“It is true,” Benjen chimed in an and showed her the large wooden shield he had been working on all day. It was a cumbersome thing, but the laughing weirwood tree he had painted on the front made her smile. “Lyanna and I used to sneak out into the Wolfswood to train with the sword, the lance and the horse. Lyanna might not be the next Ser Barristan Selmy, but there is no better rider in Winterfell than Lyanna. Not even Brandon can outrace her.”

“I see,” Howland Reed said skeptically. “It is just…I do not wish to see you harmed, my Lady.”

“Don’t fret,” Lyanna reminded him again and straightened her back. Then she picked up the shield and presented herself to them in full garb, ready to face her next enemy. “I won’t be hurt. I fell a hundred times from my saddle, but every time I managed to get up again.”

Howland Reed smiled.

“Well, you certainly look the part, my Lady.”

Lyanna laughed, her voice muffled by the visor of her helmet.

“Well, that is a consolation,” she said and realized that she had yet to make up a name for herself. “I am a Mystery Knight. How should I call myself?”

“The Knight of the Weirwood?” Benjen suggested and pointed at the shield. “The Wolf Knight?”

“Too obvious,” Lyanna countered and tried to lower her voice to give the impression of a young man. “Do I sound manly enough to you?”

“It is not bad,” Benjen replied skeptically. “Most will probably think you a foolish boy trying to become the next Barristan the Bold.”

“And yet I still need a proper name,” Lyanna reminded Benjen and her eyes flickered back to the shield. Seeing the disturbing laughing face, it hit her like thunder. “Ah, I know! The Knight of the Laughing Tree!”

Howland Reed chuckled and Benjen frowned.

“That sounds silly and not dangerous at all,” Benjen complained. Lyanna felt the urge to kick him, but her armor didn’t allow for such quick movements. “Well, I suppose it doesn’t matter.”

“Says the one who came up with the most generic names possible,” Lyanna teased and tried her best to move her arms and legs. Every movement took effort, but she didn’t want to appear weak in front of her brother and Lord Reed.

“I thank you, Lord Reed. The helmet is perfect,” she added and leaned closer to place a kiss on his cheek. “But I think it would be best if you leave us now. My brothers are surely searching for us. Mayhaps you could direct their attention elsewhere until Benjen and I have acquired a horse?”

Lord Reed nodded his head.

“Certainly, my Lady.”

To find a horse had been Benjen’s task and as it turned out he had mastered it to her full satisfaction without. The horse he had borrowed from a young knight, who had been unhorsed in his first tilt, was a fine courser covered in a sheen of grey hair. Her and Benjen had to use up most of the gold coins their Lord Father had granted them for the travel, but it would be worth if it they could regain Lord Reed’s honor.

“This one is called Thunder,” the young knight explained proudly, his eyes fixed on Benjen, who had made all the arrangements for her. “My Lord Father paid a lot of coin for him. There is no smarter and faster horse than Thunder. I must ask you to take good care of him, my Lord.”

“We will,” Lyanna promised and smoothed her hand over Thunder’s mouth. It whinnied softly, its mouth searching for her empty hand.

 _You should never go empty-handed to a horse_ , Harwin, their stable master had told her once, but Lyanna had been so overwhelmed with her plans that she had forgotten about these simply courtesy.

“He is hungry,” she stated and smiled at the young knight. “Has he been fed?”

“Aye,” the young knight confirmed and moved closer to pat the horse’s head in an affectionate gesture. “Thunder is always hungry, but my father’s groom told me that overfeeding him could hinder his performance.”

Lyanna smiled, but Benjen frowned.

“Are you sure this horse is worth the coin I paid you?”

The young knight’s demeanor changed instantly.

“Thunder is the finest horse there ever was,” he grumbled. “Do you dare to question the word of a knight?”

“Don’t fret, Ser,” Lyanna added in a calming voice and touched Benjen’s shoulder. “Please forgive my hot-headed brother. You shall have the second half of your payment on the day after tomorrow, but in exchange we need you to keep this confident. Nobody can know that we borrowed this horse.”

“No word will leave my lips, my Lady,” the young knight swore and placed his hand on his chest as if to give a vow. ”I shall keep your secret until I join the lands beyond.”

“Good,” Benjen added, his grey-blue eyes narrowed in mistrust. “But know that I remember your face. One day I shall be a knight like you, Ser. Dare to cross us and I shall make you pay for it.”

“Benjen,” Lyanna grumbled and exchanged a brief smile with the young man. “You are overdoing it.”

“I understand,” Benjen grumbled and crossed his arms in front of him. Even after they had long left the stables behind them did Benjen continued to frown.

“We should have sent Lord Reed to do the purchase,” Benjen remarked as they tried to evade a flock of ladies, garbed in fine silk dresses, their colorful shawls fluttering behind them like wings of butterflies. “I do not trust this knight.”

“We already burdened Lord Reed enough and it’s not like we told him our names,” Lyanna countered and brushed her tangled hair over her shoulder. It was in dire need of a brush, especially since Robert Baratheon was expecting her attendance tonight or better said she had promised Ned to spend time with the Lord of the Stormlands. “Besides, who would take offence if a young man dressed up as a Mystery Knight? All good tourney’s have one.”

“You are not the one who is going to get punished if father finds out,” Benjen countered, but finally stopped complaining as they reached the camp.

“There you are!” Brandon remarked, a grim expression displayed on his face as he came strutting towards them. “Where the bloody hell have you been? I was already thinking about sending out a search party.”

Lyanna rolled her eyes. Brandon had never given a fuck when she and Benjen had spent hours in the Wolfswood, but now that their father had granted him all the responsibility he was acting as if he was already the Lord of Winterfell.

“We were just exploring the castle grounds,” Lyanna lied and started to unwind her tangled hair. “Harrenhall is massive, dear brother.”

Brandon frowned in displeasure.

“Well, whatever you were doing…the feast will start soon and you two are expected to look decent. Especially you, sweet sister. No dirty breeches tonight.”

“Stop playing the lord,” Lyanna replied in annoyance. Her brother may be the heir to Winterfell, but she was still his sister and not his servant. “And you stay away from Lady Ashara Dayne. Ned likes her, you know. You can have any woman you like. Why pursue the one Ned is fawning over?”

Brandon’s face darkened immediately and leaned closer to grab her hand. Lyanna knew then that she had crossed a line.

“That is none of your bloody business!” he whispered into her ear, but Lyanna didn’t care and pulled her hand away. Then, she wheeled around and pulled Benjen along, who had observed their conversation in tense silence.

“I have need of your help, Benjen,” she declared as her brother was about to head off to his tent. “Will you play my handmaid?”

Benjen gave her a disbelieving look.

“Are you trying to fool me, sister? Father sent two ladies with you. Ask them.”

“I gave them leave for today,” she explained and felt suddenly very silly. She had completely forgotten that she would need someone to help her put on her dress. “And I do not wish to go back on my word.”

She leaned forward and pouted at Benjen.

“Please, brother. All you have to do is to help me with the bindings of my dress.”

Benjen remained skeptical and crossed his arms in front of him.

“What do I get in exchange for partaking in such a humiliating task?”

Lyanna sighed deeply. She should have known that Benjen wouldn’t be prepared to help her without getting something in return. He may be her beloved brother, but he was also a greedy little bastard.

“What do you want?”

“You will lend me Stormchaser for three full moons.”

Stormchaser was Lyanna’s horse and Benjen had always been jealous of her that their father had gifted her such a fine horse. Thus, she shouldn’t have been surprised her that he would demand this price, but she wouldn’t agree to this without a proper negotiation.

“Two moons,” Lyanna proposed in return.

“Two and a half,” Benjen countered, his gaze hard and determined.

“Deal,” Lyanna grumbled, knowing that he wouldn’t budge on this and going by the pale violet sky she needed to hurry. “Now come along. We need to hurry.”

Behind her, she heard Benjen’s sigh as she pulled aside the folds covering the entrance of her tent.

“Wait for a moment,” she told him and stopped abruptly. “I first need to wash myself and change my undergarments.”

Benjen rolled his eyes.

“I shall wait.”

Lyanna nodded her head and disappeared inside her tent.

She quickly pulled off her sweaty tunic, dirty breeches and muddy boots, before picking out fresh undergarments.

Without further ado she pulled on a white under tunic, smallclothes, tights and slipped inside a fresh dress.

This one was Lyanna’s favorite. It was a shiny blue-grey dress with voluminous sleeves accentuated with trimmings. Her cloak was made of grey pelt and had once belonged to a bear. Lady Maege Mormont had gifted her the cloak after visiting Winterfell in company of her daughters.

Carefully, she placed the cloak on a nearby chair and glimpsed through the opening of the tent to find Benjen where she had left him.

“You may come in,” she informed him and stepped aside to allow him entrance.

“Here,” she told him and turned around, showing him the bindings of her dress. “All you have to do is to bind the dress as tightly as possible.

“It’s still weird,” Benjen complained and went to work. Lyanna tried her best to hold still, but now and then she felt the urge to kick Benjen. At times she feared Benjen would suffocate her.

“It is done,” Benjen declared at last. “Can I leave now?”

Lyanna nodded her head. Then she turned around and took her first breath in the tightly-cut dress as she stepped towards the looking-glass.

Her hair was still a tangle of brown curls and she looked a bit pale around the face, but the dress fitted her and helped to accentuate her small breasts.

 _Robert will be pleased_ , she thought with growing anxiety and brushed out her hair. Then she wound her curls into a loose braid and fastened her hair with a silver pin wrought in the form of a running wolf. At last she donned a pair of glimmering earrings and stepped outside.

She didn’t know how it had happened, but dusk painted the sky in colors of lilac and velvet, the sun nothing more than a distant ball of light concealed by a flock of clouds.

The night air was fresh and pleasant on her skin, but it didn’t help to ease her fears. It wasn’t like she was afraid of Robert Baratheon, but she hated playing the lady.

And yet she intended to keep her promise to Ned.

 _I shall try to like him_ , she decided and made her way back to Benjen’s tent.

He had also changed into finer clothing. He wore a grey doublet, dark breeches, polished boots and a silken-grey cloak held together by a silver pin wrought in the form of a running wolf. Even his hair was neatly combed and brushed behind his ears. He looked every bit the proper young lord he ought to be, but like Lyanna he shared a dislike for such grand festivities.

“Shall we go?” Benjen asked and offered his arm to her. “Ned and Lord Reed are surely waiting for us.

“And Brandon and Robert Baratheon,” she added tensely and braced herself like a knight for a coming battle. “Let’s go.”

The feast was already in full swing when she and Benjen entered the feasting hall. Like yesterday, the hall was filled to the brim, the smell of roasted meat and cookfires filling her nose.

Above their heads glimmered a hundred chandeliers and they had to pass a good dozen of trestle tables, before they arrived at their table, placed on the left side of the hall.

Robert Baratheon’s barking laughter greeted them from afar.

“No wonder you were hiding all day, my Lady,” the Lord of the Stormlands japed in a slurred voice, his glassy blue eyes roaming over her body. “I am almost blinded by so much beauty!”

Then he started to laugh again. His barking laughter could have been heard all the way to Darry, but Lyanna tried to remain polite.

Tonight, she would play the lady and on the morrow she would don her armor to regain Lord Reed’s honor.

She dipped her head in greeting and smiled at the men seated around the table. Brandon was seated next to the wall, his cup filled to the brim and an approving smile curling on his lips as his grey eyes took in her lady-like appearance. Ned was flanked by Robert Baratheon and a grinning Richard Lonmouth. He was a man of ten and nine, tall, strongly-built and an able fighter. His sharp-featured face was not exactly a maiden’s dream, but there was something enticing about his sharp smiles. Robert seemed to like him as well, because he had him sit at his table for two nights in a row. Surprisingly, she also found Lord Jon Arryn and his heir Elbert Arryn seated at the table. Jon Arryn she had met before, but Elbert Arryn she had only seen from afar. He was a soft-faced man with blond hair, a striped cloak of white and blue wound around his shoulder.

“Lyanna and I were exploring the grounds,” Benjen added awkwardly and let go of her hand. “She wasn’t hiding.”

“Of course not, my young Lord,” Jon Arryn said, a mild smile plying on his wrinkled lips. “Robert was only japing. Did you enjoy your explorations, my Lady?”

“I did, my Lord,” Lyanna confirmed and swept her gaze over the table. Under other circumstances she would have sat down where she pleased, they had guests. “Where may I sit?”

“Here!” Robert exclaimed enthusiastically and moved aside to make place for her. “There should be enough space for a petit lady like yourself.”

Lyanna tried to smile gracefully and sat down.

Suddenly, she felt as if all air had been drained out of her at once, though she doubted her tightly-cut dress was the reason for it.

No, the reason was Robert Baratheon’s proximity.

“Now, that you are finally gracing us with your presence you should tell us more about your explorations,” Richard Lonmouth suggested, a sly grin spreading over his lips. “Do you like Harrenhall, my Lady?”

Lyanna didn’t know what to make of this forward question and pondered over her answer while Robert filled her plate with all kinds of roasted meat and vegetables.

“It is an interesting place,” she replied vaguely. “But very grim. I suppose it is fitting, given what happened here. The Burning of Harrenhall was always one of my favorite tales.”

“A rather frightening tale,” Jon Arryn added and cleared his throat. “I am surprised that your father allows your nursemaid to fill your mind with such gruesome tales.”

“I like scary tales, my Lord,” Lyanna replied politely. She had promised to act a lady, but that didn’t mean she would play a weeping maid. “You are quite right. We ladies of the north are not as sheltered as the ladies from the south.”

“Hear! Hear!” Robert exclaimed and filled her cup to the brim, before placing it in front of her. “Well, then I am sure Storm’s End should be to your taste. It is a gloomy place full of storms.”

“Certainly,” Lyanna replied quietly and took a sip from the cup. It was sweet summer wine that should help to still her tense nerves. Yet it wasn’t just the meeting with Robert that was grating on her, but the impending joust on the morrow. “I shall be pleased to visit Storm’s End before our wedding. Mayhaps after Brandon’s wedding?”

Robert looked disappointed.

“I hoped your father would allow us to be wed before your brother’s wedding,” he replied, his blue eyes piercing into hers.

Lyanna shuddered and felt as if she was standing before a black abyss, trying to swallow her whole.

The worst was that she couldn’t even find the right words to answer.

“Our Lord Father wants to wait until Lyanna is ten and six. Besides, it will give you more time to get to know each other, Robert,” Ned said and came to her aid.

“I see,” Robert said and leaned over to touch her hand. Lyanna gritted her teeth, forcing herself to stay in place, but it was harder than expected. “Well, we shall make the best of it, won’t we, my Lady?”

Lyanna swallowed hard and nodded her head in confirmation.

“We shall.”

Trying to divert her mind, she grabbed her cup with her free hand and drank deeply.

“You should eat,” Robert prodded gently, speaking to her as if she was a little child. “You look famished, my Lady.”

It was true what he said though. Her stomach was empty, but she strangely felt no need for food.

She still minded her manners and took small bites, like her nursemaid had thought her. _Bird bites_ , Old Nan had called it and they had laughed. Now it was serious and she tried her best to follow Robert’s never-ending stream of words.

He told her everything. About Storm’s End, his exploit in the last hunt, his time in the Eyrie, his brothers and many more things she tried to remember. The fact that he hadn’t asked a single question about her own life irked her a little.

Had he been someone different she would have told him about herself without asking for his permission, but tonight she was playing a lady and a lady never spoke without being questioned. That was another rule Old Nan had tried to teach her, though by Lyanna’s estimation she had failed miserably.

Again, and again, Lyanna’s mind was drifting away from Robert and returned to the impending tilt on the morrow. Occasionally, her thoughts were also filled with her strange meeting with the Dragon Prince. Even now she felt confused when she thought of him and found herself stealing glances at the high table.

Tonight, the King had stayed away from the feast. Only Prince Rhaegar and his wife Princess Elia had presided over the feast, though the Princess had retired early. Lyanna believed that it had to do with her current condition, but it hadn’t take long before Prince Rhaegar had been joined by two men.

One had fiery red hair while the other one was of a smaller and stockier built, his blond hair in disarray. They were too far away from her to determine what they were talking about, but Lyanna noticed that the Prince’s bearing was much calmer without the King’s presence.

He made an almost elated impression, though there was still something gloomy and sad about him.

Lyanna could have watched him forever, but Robert soon demanded her attention by the way of words and touch.

Lyanna had nearly jumped from her seat when she had felt his hand brush over the skirt of her dress. It had lasted only a heartbeat, but Robert’s amused grin made her stomach boil with rage.

She doubted that Ned and Brandon would have approved of Robert’s actions, but as so often they were nowhere to be found.

Ned had long disappeared in company of Lord Jon Arryn and Brandon had slipped away with Lady Ashara Dayne. Even Benjen and Lord Reed had left her.

Only Richard Lonmouth remained, but his smile was as bright as Robert’s.

“You are quite jumpy, my Lady,” Robert teased, his voice blurred by the taste of too much wine. He was very drunk, she realized then, but tried to hide her discomfort as best as possible. “Well, as Ned rightly said. You are only ten and five, right?”

“Ten and four,” Lyanna corrected him. Under different circumstances she would have corrected him, but her lack of age was the only thing that kept her away from her marriage to this drunken fool. “I am ten and four.”

“And a bit shy,” Robert added and laughed, his glassy eyes darting to Ser Richard. “According to my personal experience, the shy one’s are the wildest beneath the sheets. What do you say, Knight of Kisses and Skulls? Do you agree?”

The Knight of Kisses and Skulls leaned closer and grinned at her.

“I can only agree, my Lord.”

Robert howled with laughter and drowned another cup.

“I am well aware of my duties, my Lords,” Lyanna replied through gritted teeth and tried her best to keep her composure.

Again, they laughed, but Robert’s grin was the brightest.

“I have no doubt about that,” Robert said and leaned over the table, his wine-tinged breath tickling his cheek. “But before we get to that I intend to ask you another question, my sweet Lady.”

Lyanna felt the urge to back away and was about to follow her instinct, but stopped herself when she realized what impression it would make on Robert Baratheon.

“What question, my Lord?” she asked and tried to soften her voice, though she dreaded to hear the answer.

Robert looked very pleased with himself.

“I am going to partake in the melee,” He explained proudly, his hand touching hers again. “I would be honored to receive your favor.”

“Favor,” Lyanna repeated in an unsure tone and leaned forward. In truth, she held not much interest in the melee, but she could scarcely refuse. “What token would be appropriate?”

Lyanna had barely taken a breath, before Robert’s hand slung itself around her shoulder and he had planted a kiss on her lips.

Lyanna froze and had to fight the urge to bring up her knee to plant it between his legs.

She endured his attentions, her free hand grabbing the table.

“You need to calm down, my Lady,” Robert remarked after he had pulled away and brushed his hand over his mouth.

“You are too tense,” he added and grinned. “But your kiss should suffice for a favor.”

Lyanna forced a smile over her lips.

“I hope so, my Lord.”

Inwardly, she was burning with rage. To still the flames inside her chest she picked up her discarded cup, pouring the last bits of sweet summer wine down her throat.

“I think you startled, Lady Lyanna,” Ser Richard Lonmouth said to Robert, who seemed delighted by her stunned expression.

“You are quite right, Ser Richard,” Robert agreed and re-filled his cup to the brim. “My Lady is rather shy. She has more of Ned than I thought.”

“Mayhaps a dance would help to lighten Lady Lyanna’s mood,” Ser Richard added, one of his sharp smiles curling on his lips as he leaned closer. His eyes were bright green, reminiscent of grass. “Would you care for a dance?”

Lyanna didn’t know what to answer, her gaze darting to Robert. She had the choice between spending her time with her drunken betrothed or to share a dance with this Ser Richard

Well, at least it would give her time to breath and she might even use it as way to excuse herself afterwards.

Dancing was a very taxing activity.

“It would be my pleasure,” she replied at last and dipped her head slightly as she angled her head to look Robert. _A true lady always asks of approval_ , she recalled one of her many lessons. “Does it bother you, my Lord?”

Robert laughed and nodded his head in confirmation.

“I am sure Ser Richard knows where to keep his hands,” Robert warned in an amusing tone.

“I would never dare,” Ser Richard assured Robert and lowered his head to offer his hand to her.

Lyanna rose to her feet and took his hand, following him towards the dance floor.

It was long past midnight and there were few dancers to be seen, though the minstrels had not stopped in their labor.

“I think the next song will be to your taste,” Ser Richard whispered as he took her hand and placed his other on her waist. As promised, he kept his hands where they belonged, but even Robert’s warning couldn’t banish away his sharp smiles. “You will see.”

Lyanna didn’t know what to make of his words and frowned.

“I fear I do not understand you, Ser Richard…,” she began, but Ser Richard pulled her along and jerked his head towards the minstrels.

Lyanna nearly stumbled over her toes when she noticed that Prince Rhaegar had taken his place among them, his golden harp placed before him.

Truly, it shouldn’t have surprised her. She had heard from others that the Prince liked to perform in front of others, but the way Ser Richard was smiling told her that something was about to happen.

“Have no fear, my Lady,” Ser Richard whispered and squeezed her hand gently. “Prince Rhaegar tasked me to do this. I was once his squire. He is an old friend of mine.”

Lyanna felt like hit by thunder and instinctively lowered her gaze to the ground. She feared that Robert might have seen her look at the Prince.

Yet when the first notes of the song filled her ears, she couldn’t help but to lift her gaze. Unlike the song from the first night, this one was sweet and uplifting.

Her heart fluttered wildly as Prince Rhaegar’s fine voice joined the soft sound of his harp.

 

My featherbed is deep and soft,  
and there I'll lay you down,

I'll dress you all in yellow silk,  
and on your head a crown.

For you shall be my lady love,  
and I shall be your lord.

I'll always keep you warm and safe,  
and guard you with my sword.

And how she smiled and how she laughed,  
the maiden of the tree.

She spun away and said to him,  
no featherbed for me.

I'll wear a gown of golden leaves,  
and bind my hair with grass,

But you can be my forest love,  
and me your forest lass.

 

Ser Richard had been right. The song fitted her perfectly, but she had a hard time focusing on the words as she tried to move along with Ser Richard’s pace.

Once or twice, she tried to get a glimpse at Prince Rhaegar, but it was impossible to make out his features.

All she had was his soft voice caressing her ears.

This morning she had prided herself on having successfully banished Prince Rhaegar from her mind, but now all the impressions she had felt in that moment returned to her.

 _Why is he doing this_ , she wondered and winced when she stepped unto Ser Richard’s foot. _He is the Prince. He shouldn’t be doing such silly things._

Yet she couldn’t help but to feel flattered by his actions. He was so different from Robert. The Prince had sought her out, but had never overstepped his bounds. All he had done was to place a kiss on her knuckles.

“Finally,” Ser Richard whispered and chuckled. “You are smiling, my Lady. My Prince will be pleased.”

Lyanna froze and realized that she was indeed smiling.

She felt both embarrassed and amused. Truly, it was such a strange mixture of feelings that were quarreling in her chest for dominance.

She knew she shouldn’t feel this way, but she couldn’t help it.

“My smile would please the Prince?” she asked then.

“Certainly,” Ser Richard confirmed. “When my Prince gave me this task, he said ‘Last time I had the honor to behold Lady Lyanna’s tears, but tonight I hope to behold Lady Lyanna’s smile’.”

She shivered involuntarily.

“He really said this?” she asked and winced at her strained and distant voice. “You are not trying to fool me, are you, Ser Richard?”

Ser Richard’s smile was as bright as a star, as he led her through the last steps of the dance.

“On my honor as a knight,” Ser Richard promised and leaned down to place a kiss on her hand. “I am most loyal to my Prince and would never dare to distort his words. May you have a goodnight, my Lady.”

“Goodnight,” she replied in a flustered tone, still overwhelmed by these strange feelings taking hold of her.

”Goodnight,” she whispered.

…


	6. Rhaegar

**Rhaegar**

Rhaegar had donned his armour and was seated next to his father, the King. As expected, the King was in a bad mood, his mouth still dirty from the small meal he had consumed earlier. One of the new servants had attempted to convince the King to wash and had promptly been sent to the Wall. A kind fate, which indicated that the King was in an ill-mood, but not as bad as Rhaegar had feared. On a bad day said man would have been dragged back to King’s Landing to become part in one the King’s favorite leisure. Burning people alive.

Rhaegar desired nothing more than to leave, but that was impossible. The King had made it clear to Rhaegar that he wanted to see him partake in the jousting competition, to defend he honor of House Targaryen. Rhaegar had agreed, though he felt little longing to partake in the joust. His mind was occupied otherwise, namely with his failed plot and Lady Lyanna Stark, Lord Rickard Stark’s daughter.

Occasionally, whenever Elia or his father were engaging him in a conversation, he stole a glance at the Starks, hoping to lay eyes on the maid of Winterfell. Sadly, she was nowhere to be seen. He only saw two of her brothers, Robert Baratheon and the crannogman Lyanna had saved from the unwanted attentions of three squires.

The youngest brother Benjen was seated next to Howland Reed, his attention captivated by the jousting competition while his older brother Eddard Stark was whispering to Robert Baratheon.

The two of them couldn’t be more different from each other. Robert Baratheon was a muscular man with pitch-black hair and a boisterous laugh that could be heard from a great distance while Eddard Stark was what most people would have called plain. He was of average height, his face solemn and framed by mousy brown hair.

What Ser Richard had told him about Eddard Stark only strengthened this observation. Eddard Stark was a quiet and serious man, who hardly ever joined the Lord of the Stormlands in his pursuit of pleasure. No, these two men had little in common and yet they were supposedly as close as brothers.

 _It is my brother who is taken with Robert_ , Lyanna had confessed to him during their second meeting and perhaps that was the very reason for this unwanted betrothal. Mayhaps it were not Rickard Stark’s ambitions that convinced him of this match, but the fact that his son had vouched for the Lord of the Stormland’s good character. Mayhaps Rickard Stark trusted the word of his son more than the rumours circulating about the Lord of the Stormlands, namely that he was a wanton man who had already fathered a bastard on a girl in the Vale.

Whatever Lord Rickard’s reasons, Lady Lyanna deserved better than someone like Robert Baratheon. If Rhaegar were free to wed, he would have been the first to propose to her and save her from his cousin’s unwanted attentions. Yet all he did was sing her a song, though at least this time he had managed to bring a smile to her lips or that was at least what Ser Richard had assured him.

Yet it was not enough to still his longing. Throughout the whole feast he had fought the urge to seek her out and to ask for something as simple as a dance, though his caution had held him back. Ser Richard, who had long been spying for him on Robert Baratheon, had told him more than once that his cousin held a grudge against the Targaryens, though said grudge had nothing to do with Lady Lyanna, but the tragic death of his father Lord Steffon Baratheon in a shipwreck.

Thus, he had to be satisfied to admire Lady Lyanna from afar. She had worn a shiny blue dress, tightly laced around her slim body and accentuated with white trimmings. Around her shoulders she had worn a pelted cloak of grey color that may have once belonged to a wolf or a bear. Her brown lustrous hair had been wound in a simple braid and had been probably decorated with freshly-plucked flowers, though the distance had made it difficult to be sure…

A flush crept up his neck as he realized where his thoughts were straying. _Get a hold of yourself_ , he chided himself and averted his gaze. Looking at the King, who was fiddling with his tattered cloak ought to help, but it was no use. Again, his mind strayed back to the maid of Winterfell, her deep frown and the confused look she had given him after he had placed a kiss on her hand. It made him wonder what it would feel to kiss her full lips so prone to cursing.

“Rhaegar…the first tilt is about to begin,” Elia’s voice and touch called him back to the present. Meeting her gaze, he felt a hint of guilt clenching around his heart, though their marriage had never been about love, but to bring forth children and to forge an allegiance. Still, he had given his vow to her and he had kept said vow throughout their marriage, though Elia had not done the same. At first, he had been confused about the amount of interest she had been showering on her ladies, but he had realized the truth after he had found Lady Ashara Dayne naked in her bed. Rhaegar had been shocked, though he was aware of such inclinations in both women and men. Lord Jon Connington was of such a breed and Rhaegar thought not lesser of him for these inclinations, but to find out that way had still been a shock

That night, Elia had poured out her heart to him: Her reasons for agreeing to their match, her deeply-rooted affections for Lady Ashara Dayne and her guilt about betraying her mother’s memory. Strangely, Rhaegar hadn’t been angered about her confessions or the fact that she had only agreed to wed him in order to repay Tywin Lannister for the humiliation he had dealt her Lady Mother and House Martell. No, Rhaegar had understood her better than she could ever know. All his life, he had been forced to play a role that his father intended for him, but Elia had given him the opportunity voice his true thoughts. Thus, Elia had become his trusted friend, though her comforting presence was not enough to quell the fires raging inside his heart.

“Who is fighting?” his father grumbled. “Tell me.”

Rhaegar frowned and exchanged a quiet look with Elia, before he leaned forward to get a better look at the tiltyard.

Rhaegar took a quick glance at the respective riders and realized that one of them was Ser Jaime Lannister, Lord Tywin Lannister’s heir.

“Tywin’s whelp is riding, isn’t he?” his father asked and Rhaegar nodded his head.

“Indeed,” Rhaegar confirmed. “Ser Jaime Lannister is riding.”

Suddenly, his father started to smile and leaned back in his chair. His smile only brightened as he watched Ser Jaime break lances with his opponent.

This happened two times, but in the last round Ser Jaime managed a decisive hit, which hurled his opponent from his saddle.

The smallfolk cheered loudly for the young golden-haired boy. His bright smile could have cleaved steel when the King called him forward to kneel before him.

Rhaegar swallowed hard, his nerves alert with anxiety.

 _No_ , he thought as he watched how Ser Jaime received his white cloak and was granted entrance in the Kingsguard. _Gods, no!_

Elia looked equally stunned, her dark eyes fixed on Ser Jaime.

“Arise, Ser Jaime!” the King declared loudly and grinned. “Arise as a brother of the Kingsguard! May you serve us well!”

The young man did as he was asked, a proud smile curling on his lips as he exchanged his crimson cloak for the white one.

“You do me a great honor, your grace,” Ser Jaime replied and joined Ser Gerold Hightower’s side. Not long after, he was dismissed from the King’s presence and the jousting competition continued.

Rhaegar was still shell-shocked when the King leaned closer, his stinking breath tickling his cheek.

“That will keep Tywin loyal to me,” the King whispered into his ear. “Do not think I do not know of your little ploys, my boy. The Spider keeps me well-informed.”

Rhaegar gritted his teeth and averted his gaze.

“I would never presume…,” he began, but the King interrupted him.

“Stop lying to your King. I know that you tried to kill Lord Varys, but I let it slide because you are my blood. Do that again and I shall have your head, my boy.”

Rhaegar tightened his grip on the handle of his chair and angled his head to look at his King, his father.

No, this man was not his father. This man in front of him was a stranger, a monster that took pleasure in tormenting the people around him. The father he had known would have never violated his mother. The father he had known had wept for every babe he had lost, but this man had died at Duskendale. What was left of him was only madness and cruelty, though that certainly didn’t mean he lacked cunning.

I underestimated him.

“I understand,” Rhaegar answered at last.

The King grinned, baring his yellow teeth to the world. “Good, and now let’s watch he next tilt. I hope it is a good one.”

The rest of the evening passed slowly and Rhaegar found no pleasure in the competition. Occasionally, he donned his armor to meet a challenger, but none of them proved particularly engaging.

The only exception was Brandon Stark, who had been very eager to face him. As always, Rhaegar mounted his black destrier and led his horse unto the tiltyard. Rhaegar had heard before that the heir to the North was a fearsome rider, but being successful at jousting took more than good horsemanship. It was no sport for the passionate at heart, but demanded understanding and patience.

Sadly, this was a quality Brandon Stark lacked. It showed in the way he drove his horse and how tensely he held his lance. Rhaegar made use of his disadvantage and easily managed to break his lance against Brandon Stark’s chest, though Rhaegar’s was pleasantly surprised when his opponent remained seated. The second time, Brandon Stark drove his horse to an even faster pace, but it had been no use. Rhaegar managed to evade his attack and slammed his lance into Brandon Stark’s chest with such force that he tumbled from his horse and kissed the dirt.

Rhaegar grimaced when Brandon Stark hit the ground and quickly led his horse towards his fallen opponent.

“Are you well, my Lord?” Rhaegar inquired after he had pulled off the visor of his helmet.

“I have no need of your help,” Lord Brandon gumbled angrily, though he was barely able to stand on his two feet. Eventually, he called for his squire, a young man with untidy black hair, who helped him walk.

Realizing that his presence was unnecessary, Rhaegar mounted his horse and returned to his squire.

“A fine performance,” Arthur complimented with a grin, but Rhaegar felt no joy about his victory. Lord Brandon’s anger worried him.

 _Could he be part of the conspiracy_ , Rhaegar wondered, but brushed these thoughts away before they could take hold of his thoughts.

By the time he had returned to the King’s side the next two opponents had led their horses unto the tiltyard.

One of them looked very strange. He wore mismatched armor and carried a round shield, a grotesque laughing weirwood tree painted on the front.

“Who is that?” he asked Elia.

“No name was given,” she replied and shrugged her shoulders. “A mystery knight.”

A heartbeat later the bright sound of a trumpet announced the beginning of the next tilt and the two opponents kicked their feet in the sides of their horses, breaking their lances in loud crash. Ser Haigh had barely managed to touch his opponent and soon found himself hanging from his saddle as his horse galloped over the yard. It was an amusing sight that earned the mystery knight a round of laughter from the onlookers.

“He is so small,” Elia whispered to Rhaegar, her voice laced with curiosity. “Perhaps another Ser Barristan the Bold? Or maybe a son of House Blackwood? Their sigil looks similar.”

Rhaegar had entertained the same thought, but a strange foreboding filled him as he watched the knight lift his broken lance.

“I have no need of ransom! I only ask of you to teach your squires honor!”

The voice was muffled by the helmet, but Rhaegar recognized it at once.

_Lady Lyanna Stark._

_Seven hells_ , he thought and tightened his grip on the handle of his chair. _And I encouraged her._

 _Utter madness,_ he thought as the mystery knight prepared himself to meet his next opponent, Ser Blount.

Again, the trumpet announced the beginning of the next tilt and the lances splintered, filling the air with a rattling sound. It had been a perfect gallop and the way the mystery knight had carried his lance had impressed Rhaegar, though he doubted Ser Blount shared his feelings.

Said knight soon found himself rolling on the ground , his feet painfully angled. It took three men to get him back to his feet, but that was not the greatest shame he had to endure.

Again, the mystery knight refused the ransom and demanded of Ser Blount to teach his squires honor.

The last opponent, a knight from House Frey, found a similar fate. The mystery knight had shattered his lance two times, before Ser Frey had tumbled from his horse like a man too deep in his cups.

The crowd cheered loudly and clapped as the mystery knight led his horse towards the fallen knight, his broken lance lifted in a victory salute.

“Whoever he is, the boy is a fine rider,” Elia remarked admiringly. “My brother Oberyn couldn’t have done it any better.”

Rhaegar nodded his head in silent acknowledgement as he turned his head to look at the King.

“How dare he,” the King mumbled in an agitated voice and pulled on his sleeves. “How dare he.”

Unaware of the King’s displeasure the mystery knight refused the ransom and waved his broken lance at the smallfolk.

“I am the Knight of the Laughing Tree!” the mystery knight declared proudly and basked in the cheers of the crowd. Then, he wheeled his horse around and galloped away.

“Bring him to me!” the King roared like an angry dragon as he craned his neck to look at Rhaegar. His lilacs eyes were blown and he looked feverish. “At once!”

Rhaegar knew that he couldn’t refuse his King’s command, but he feared who he might find hiding beneath this helmet.

Yet his beating heart seemed to think differently. It seemed excited at the prospect of meeting Lady Lyanna.

And while Rhaegar’s mind and heart were fighting each other, he knew one thing. He wouldn’t allow the King to harm this mystery knight.

…


	7. Lyanna

**Lyanna**

The sun was hanging low on the horizon as she left the bent and broken towers of Harrenhall behind her. Her heart was still racing from the three jousts she had manage to win and she could scarcely register all the emotions jolting through her body. There was euphoria, fear and pride quarreling for dominance in her heart.

Yet she had no time to be idle. She needed to get rid of the evidence, before either Ned or Brandon came sniffling after her. That she had spent all evening away from them was suspicious enough. Knowing Ned he was probably angered that she had fled Robert Baratheon's presence again.

 _Tonight, I shall play the perfect lady_ , she decided right there and led her horse in a faster gallop down the dusty road and past a row of elm trees. For a moment she closed her eyes, feeling the pleasant wind caressing her face and braided hair. While she had been proud to wear armor, she had long removed the helmet to give herself time to breath.

As she continued onwards, she found a patch of forest surrounding a small brook that was snaking its way through the thick foliage. She had considered several solutions how she intended to get rid of the evidence. One solution she had entertained was to scatter the pieces of her armor in Harrenhall and another had been to throw all of it into the God’s Eye, hoping the clear waters would wash away the evidence. At last, she had decided against these two solutions and decided scatter the pieces in the wooden areas surrounding the lands of Harrenhall.

She rode for another hour, trespassing a downtrodden path and brushing away twigs and foliage alike. She found pines, oaks, sentinels, elms and now and then a nut tree. Most of these trees were as old as the castle itself, their fat trunks wider than a house. Their crowns were as broad as a castle tower and their thick canopy blocked out most of the light, though now and then the dappled sunlight shone in the darkness like a swarm of fireflies.

Seeing all these trees she wondered if Harrenhall was home to weirwood trees. Perhaps she hadn’t looked properly enough, but that had been hard, because she had spent the last day preparing her mummery to win back Lord Howland Reed’s honor.

Now, that she had achieved this goal, she made this her next goal.

 _Benjen could help me,_ she wondered as she led her horse unto a wide clearing. Here she found several fallen trees, the rushing of the brook filling her ears with a pleasant song. The water looked cool and pleasant, just right to get a quick wash.

And why not? Her tunic and breeches were drenched in sweat. Ned or Brandon would surely be suspicious if she smelled like a pig.

 _But first I need to get rid of the evidence_ , she knew as she climbed from her saddle. Her horse whinnied softly as she bound the reins to a nearby tree.

Once she had calmed her horse, Lyanna started to strip off one piece of armor after another. This was harder than anticipated and made her wish that she had asked Benjen and Lord Howland Reed to accompany her. Yet she hadn’t wanted to endanger them more than necessary.

 _Silly girl_ , she chided herself as she pulled the chest piece over her head. Exhaling deeply, she allowed herself to fall back on the soft grass, to gather her strength.

Then, she rose back to her feet and untied her bag. Inside she kept a fresh tunic, breeches, a fine blue cloak and a ribbon tied to her hair.

 _It will have to suffice_ , she decided and put the pieces of her mismatched armor in the bags she had brought with her. After she had finished this task, she fastened the bags on her horse and started to scatter each piece in different places of the woods. The arm pieces she placed beneath a bent elm tree, the pieces for the feet she placed in a thick bush of wildberries and the chest piece she threw into the brook. At last only her shield remained, though she took one last moment to admire it, before placing it beneath a large pine tree. It was a shame that she had to give it away, but it was necessary.

 _Nobody can ever know about my grand victory_ , she thought mournfully and led her horse back to the clearing she had come about early. There, she stripped off first her tunic and her breeches, followed by her dirty boots.

Stripped down to her smallclothes she stepped into the rushing water. She felt shame washing over her when she started to shudder at the touch of the icy water. Gritting her teeth, she went chest deep into the water.

It took all her courage to make the last step and dip her head beneath the water. The shock lasted only for the blink of a moment, but when she emerged, she immediately fled from the icy hands of the brook, back towards her horse and belongings.

Quickly, she pulled on the clean tunic, the breeches and the dirty boots she had washed in the brook. Trembling from head to toe, she fastened the cloak and rubbed her shoulders to drive away the cold that had taken hold of her body.

“It seems the south has left its mark on you, my Lady,” a distant, yet familiar voice said.

Lyanna was so startled that she nearly stumbled over her own feet as she had turned her head in the direction of voice.

She had recognized the voice at once, but only seeing him made her believe it. Rhaegar Targaryen was there, seated on a massive destrier, a mild-mannered smile curling on his lips as he lowered the hood of his cloak.

Like last time, his long silver hair was braided out of his face, which made his even-shaped face appear sharper and older.

Not that Lyanna cared about that.

Her heart had nearly jumped out of her chest when she had heard his voice and her breathing was still labored as she pulled her cloak tighter around her shoulders. Her hair and body were still wet. She didn’t want him to see here like this, but then an even more embarrassing thought entered her thoughts.

_What if he has already seen me?_

“Are you well, my Lady?” the Prince inquired hesitatingly. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“You didn’t scare me!” she defended herself. She didn’t want him to think of her as some weak maiden. “But I admit…you startled me.”

Then, ever carefully she made her way to her horse. Inside her bag she kept a dagger, though she doubted it would be a good idea to threaten a Prince. It was bad enough that he had found her, though she had to admit that he had always been friendly towards her.

And yet Lyanna couldn’t help but to nourish mistrust towards him. He had been kind to her, but that didn’t mean his smiles were true.

All Lyanna had learned about the Targaryens was from books and history lessons, but seeing the King with her own eyes had confirmed what her brother Brandon had told her numerous times. The King was a raving mad man, though if his son was of a similar breed she had yet to decide.

“You won’t have need of a weapon, my Lady,” the Prince’s soft-spoken voice interrupted her scattered thoughts. “I mean you no harm.”

Lyanna quickly pulled her hand away and turned around.

_How did he know? Did he read my thoughts?_

“And yet you are here,” she replied mistrustfully and searched his face. “Did you watch me bath?”

To her utter surprise, a flustered expression washed over Prince Rhaegar’s features.

“I assure you…I didn’t watch you, my Lady,” explained apologetically and stepped towards her in long strides. He was a tall man, though not as strongly-built as Robert Baratheon. Yet he had an athletic built that told her was a man who didn't sit idle. “But is quite the coincidence that I came about you in my search for the Mystery Knight.”

Lyanna froze and her heart nearly stopped.

“The Mystery Knight?” she asked, trying to feign surprise. “What Mystery Knight?”

Yet it seemed her mummery was not very convincing, because Prince Rhaegar didn’t look as if he believed her.

“Now you are playing dumb, my Lady. I had my suspicions, but your presence here confirmed it. You were the Mystery Knight, weren’t you?” Prince Rhaegar added and stepped closer.

Lyanna stood now backed against the tree and swallowed hard.

“I do not know what you are talking about. I am taking a ride. That is all.”

“Is that so?” Prince Rhaegar asked, his eyebrows rising to the top of his head and his lips curled into a smile. Then, he walked back to his horse and showed her the shield Benjen had painted for her. “Well, this piece of evidence speaks against you.”

Lyanna narrowed her gaze in defiance.

“You have no proof that this shield belongs to me.”

“I have not,” Prince Rhaegar confirmed in an amused tone and regarded her closely. “But it makes sense. The squires that attacked Lord Howland Reed belonged to the three knights that were challenged by the Knight of the Laughing Tree, but it were the words of the Mystery Knight that aroused my suspicions. And now I found this shield...the cherry on the top."

Lyanna remained silent, wrecking her mind for a proper answer. She was torn between denying all these accusations, but decided at last that the best was to tell the truth.

It was after all Prince Rhaegar’s encouragement that had sparked the idea to partake in the joust.

“Very well,” she admitted and sighed deeply. “I am the Knight of the Laughing Tree, but I only did what you encouraged me to do. You said yourself that I would find a way to win back Lord Reed’s honor.”

The Prince’s eyes widened in realization. Then, he smiled.

“I remember…I said something of the sort.”

“You don’t have a very good memory then,” Lyanna replied and felt strangely disappointed that he didn't recall their conversation. “Well, it matters not. What matters to me is…What will happen now? Will you tell on me?”

“Tell on you?” he asked and moved an inch closer. He was now only a few steps away, his red cloak swaying in the soft breeze that stirred the leaves to life. The light falling unto his face made his dark eyes glimmer in different hues of lilac and purple. It was a beautiful sight to behold and terrible distracting. “I have no such intentions. My Lord Father the King may have commanded me to bring him the Mystery Knight, but you should know that I have no intention fulfill his demand. I think your shield should suffice, my Lady.”

Lyanna was stunned and bit her lips in disbelief.

“You are letting me go?” she asked and winced at her strained voice. “Won’t the King be angered?"

Prince Rhaegar sighed and brushed a loose strand of silver hair from his face.

“He is always angry. That’s a perpetual state no one has control of, not even the King himself.”

He sounded so very sad and it made her regret her previous question.

“The King was not always like that,” Prince Rhaegar added and pulled off his cloak, before spreading it on the soft grass. “I have happy memories of him when I was a boy. He and my mother’s marriage was never particularly happy, but they are brother and sister and always took comfort in each other’s presence. All of this changed after the Defiance of Duskendale. Have you heard about this event, my Lady?”

“I have,” she confirmed, but was unsure why he was telling her this. They were practical strangers and he was bearing his family tragedies to her. Strangely, this awareness filled her with excitement when it should have filled her with more mistrust. She didn’t know why, but there was something honest and endearing about him, something that made her trust him, though her mind was telling her otherwise. “But that doesn’t justify what he is doing. They say he is burning people alive for petty crimes."

“Fire and Blood,” the Prince repeated the words of his house and waved his hand at the cloak spread over the ground. “The King takes the words of our house too much to his heart. I am trying my best to keep his depravities in check, but it is the King who wields the true power not I.”

Then, he smiled again. It was a warm smile that looked strangely out-of-place on his solemn features.

“Please sit down, my Lady. Your hair and clothing are still wet. Once you are dry you may safely return to the camp.”

“At the first day of the feast the lords and ladies clapped for you not the King,” she said and sat down, though much to her surprise Prince Rhaegar remained standing and kept his distance, though she found him glancing at her more than once. Every time, she felt her cheeks burn, though she tried to hide these feelings as best as possible.

 _Is that how it should feel_ , she wondered and couldn’t help but to compare these feelings to Robert Baratheon. He had danced with her and had complimented her on her beauty, but never once had she felt such stirrings of the heart in his presence. It was all so confusing.

“That may be,” Prince Rhaegar admitted and grouched down, to be at face-level with her. “But the King is more cunning than he lets on. He has men loyal to him and a son deposing of one’s sire in a bloody coup would only bring me the scorn of the gods. I had hoped for long time that there could be a peaceful way to resolve this matter, but I fear that was another folly of mine.”

Suddenly, he fell silent, his narrowed gaze darting to a birds nest hidden in the crown of a tree. He smiled faintly and watched as the birds took flight, before he shifted his attention back to her.

“This tourney,” he said and shrugged his shoulders. “It was meant to accomplish that, but someone informed the King about my plans and now I am forced to start anew. Your father and his friends are not helping me either, my Lady.”

“My father?” Lyanna asked in a stunned voice and shuddered as a gust of wind washed over them. “What do you say?”

“The betrothals your father arranged for you and your brother,” Prince Rhaegar explained, his face taking a serious expression. “It worries me, because these marriages would bind the Riverlands, the North and the Stormlands into an allegiance. I do not know if you are aware of this fact, but Robert Baratheon is of Targaryen blood just like me and the rest of my family. There are those who think he is aiming to succeed my mad father.”

Lyanna blinked once, twice and then a third time, before she started to laugh. She couldn’t help it, but Robert Baratheon didn’t strike her as a man who thought further than the next cup of wine he is going to consume.

She only stopped when she noticed Prince Rhaegar’s silence.

“I do not quite understand why you were laughing, my Lady,” Prince Rhaegar said after she had regained her composure. “This is a most serious topic.”

“Forgive me,” she replied and regretted her words. “But what little I have seen of Robert Baratheon doesn’t convince me that he has any interest in the crown.”

“That may be,” Prince Rhaegar agreed and finally sat down on his spread cloak. As he leaned closer, she smelled his scent. It was a mixture of lemon and sweat. It was a most pleasant smell. “But if stirred by his allies even a man like Robert Baratheon might come to like the taste of power. I may be the heir, but that doesn’t mean that the crown will be mine. House Targaryen’s might once rested on the might of the dragons and has slowly eroded over the years. Now, we must depend on the loyalty of our lords, among them your father Lord Rickard Stark, Lord Hoster Tully, your betrothed and of course Jon Arryn, who is said to hold fatherly affection for your betrothed.”

Lyanna was more than confused, both by her feelings and what the Prince had revealed to her.

 _Could it be true_ , she wondered, fear taking hold of her heart.  _Is father plotting to put Robert Baratheon on the throne?_

 _No_ , she thought. Her father had never spoken of southron matches until Maester Walys had joined their household.  _If someone stirred him in this direction it was Maester Walys’ idea and perhaps Hoster Tully._

She had met him only once, but he had been very pleased when her father had told him about her betrothal to Robert Baratheon.

What irked her as well was the fact that Prince Rhaegar was baring these thoughts to her.

Was he trying to manipulate her? Was this the reason he had approached her in the first place? To spy on her?

She needed to know the truth and lifted her head to search Prince Rhaegar’s face.

“What do you want from me?” she asked bluntly.

If Prince Rhaegar was insulted by her question it didn’t show on his face. He seemed even mildly amused, but also a bit confused.

“I do not…,” he began, but Lyanna cut him off.

“Why did you approach me? Is it because you think I am going to tell you about my father’s plans? If so, then let me tell you…My father would never entrust me with such important knowledge. I am only his daughter, meant to be wed and bear heirs for my future lord husband.”

He must have heard the bitterness ringing in her voice, because his expression softened immediately.

“I do not know why,” he admitted then and leaned closer, his warm breath mingling with hers. “Perhaps that was my initial reason, but there is more…you are fascinating, my Lady.”

She stared at him, her heart pounding wildly in her chest. She wouldn't be surprised if he was able to hear it.

“I…,” she stuttered, but was silenced by the intensity of his gaze and the touch of his hand on her shoulder. It made her skin burn, but the clenching of her teeth helped to suppress the feelings stirring inside her. “I fear I do not understand you at all.”

Prince Rhaegar sighed deeply and angled his head. It was frustrating, almost as if he was playing with her.

“You are prettier than most maids, but none would have done what you did. None of them would have dared to don the amour of a knight to defend the honor of her father’s bannermen. You are a lady, but you have the heart of a true knight. What I am trying to say…I truly admire you for your courage…”

Froze in time, she found herself torn between running away and moving towards him. She also felt her cheeks burn as her eyes darted to his lips.

Robert Baratheon had kissed her, but she had only endured it for Ned’s sake.

She felt warm, so incredibly warm. And yet it was not his beauty that had stirred these feelings, but his heartfelt words.

“I always wanted to be a knight,” she admitted in a breathless voice.

He smiled at her admission. It was a lovely smile, devoid of his usual sadness, his features alight with understanding.

“It seems we both desire to be something we are not,” he whispered and gently cupped her cheeks. “I never liked fighting and yet I learned it.”

Then they fell silent. Frozen in time they stared at each other.

One false step and all would be lost. So much Lyanna knew.

Yet she couldn’t help but to make the step in the wrong direction.

“What is it you like to do?”

He chuckled.

“I like singing,” he whispered. “Do you think that is silly?”

It was such a simply and heartfelt answer.

“Not at all…not all,” she breathed and leaned closer, his lips finally touch hers. They were gentle and soft, as if he was not sure if she wanted this, as if to allow her to back away. Yet Lyanna didn’t want to back away and returned his kiss, her mouth opening to him.

Exhaling deeply, he deepened the kiss and pulled her against him, one hand still resting on her shoulder and the other one brushing through her hair.

She sighed in disapproval when he let go of her lips and pulled away.

She felt no longer cold, a strange warmth pooling between her legs.

His cheeks were equally flushed and his lips slightly swollen.

He smiled, but it lacked the loveliness of his previous smile. This one was sad, tinged with a hint of guilt.

“Your wife,” she knew immediately. She had only seen a glimpse of her when Ser Oliver, no Ser Arthur Dayne had led her to the Maester. “Why kiss me then?”

“Because I can’t help it,” he explained, but sounded conflicted. “Elia and I…we are wed, so much is true, but our match is bound by duty, not by love. She won’t be angered by this, for she herself has someone that holds her heart.”

Lyanna was startled by this admission.

“But she is the Princess…she carries your child,” she stuttered, but Prince Rhaegar’s touch on her cheek silenced her at once. “There are no lies between myself and Elia. She is a good and kind woman who did her duty as best as she could. I did the same, but the heart does not obey the laws of gods and men. It is rebellious and fierce, a bit like you, my Lady. I see that now.”

“Who is her love?”

“Someone I am very fond of,” he explained and brushed his hand over her cheek, before dropping it back on her shoulder. “But my daughter Rhaenys and the babe she carries are mine. As I said, there are no lies between us.”

Lyanna wanted to believe him and the temptation was strong, but banished these feelings away when she thought of her father.

“My father would not accept this and I am betrothed to Robert Baratheon…”

“Indeed,” Prince Rhaegar agreed almost abruptly and pulled away. Then, he rose to his feet and graced her with a sad smile.

“But I doubt he makes your blood stir,” he countered, picked the shield from the ground and climbed on his horse.

“It is my touch, not Robert Baratheon’s you are craving fo,r” he added and wheeled his horse around. He hadn’t even donned his cloak.

“Wait!” she called after him and was relieved when he stopped his horse. “Your cloak.”

She folded the garment carefully and handed it to him.

“Thank you,” Prince Rhaegar replied in a disappointed tone. “I almost forgot.”

Lyanna bit her lips, fear and longing quarreling in her chest for dominance.

“I haven’t given you anything return,” she said then, a sudden realization filling her mind. “Would you…Would you care for my favor?”

He gave her a wondrous look and dipped his head.

“It would be my honor.”

Lyanna smiled and pulled her ribbon from the vest of her cloak. It was made of grey silk, a direwolf embellished on the front. Lyanna had made it herself, which explained the direwolf’s odd appearance.

“Here,” she said in a trembling voice and offered him the ribbon. “It is not much, but I want you to have it.”

A soft smile crossed his lips as he picked the ribbon from her hand.

Then he brought it to his lips and lowered his head once more.

“I thank you for your gift, my Lady.”

As he was about to turn around, Lyanna spoke again.

"There is more," she admitted.

He looked at her, his dark eyes piercing into hers.

"Please speak freely, my Lady."

She exhaled deeply and spoke.

"I hope to see you again...only if you can arrange it."

A warm smile spread over his lips and he lowered his head.

"It would be my pleasure."

Then; he wheeled his horse around and left her standing there, her thoughts scattered and lost.

…


	8. Ashara

**Ashara**

Ashara watched with anticipation as the knights assembled on each side of the courtyard. Most of the knights she only knew by name, safe for Ser Gerold Hightower, the infamous Lord Commander of the Kingsguard who was commonly called the White Bull.

His name certainly fitted him. He was a massive man, with broad shoulders as thick as the trunk of a tree, though his grey hair betrayed his age. Armed with a sword and a shield, he sat mounted on a grey destrier, waiting to defend the honor of the Kingsguard.

“Ser Gerold looks eager. He is going to win this,” Arthur’s amused voice startled her. He had suddenly appeared beneath her seat, situated a bit below the royal box. Usually, she would have been seated next to Princess Elia, but she had decided to rest and had given Ashara leave to do as she pleased. It seemed Prince Rhaegar had done the same, because Arthur was here to see her.

“Perhaps, but I think you would best them all, Arthur. Ser Gerold may be the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, but he is getting old,” Ashara replied and took in her brother’s appearance. So far She hadn’t had much of an opportunity to take a proper look at him. Only on the first day of the tourney had she shared a brief dance with him and later she had found little opportunity to spend time with him, though that had been partly her fault. Brandon Stark, the heir to Winterfell, had prosed and still posed quite a distraction for her. She found his bluntness exciting and his bright smiles made her heart beat faster.  _Not now_ , she chided herself and took another glance at Arthur’s appearance. His dark hair was slightly longer and she also noticed the fresh scar on his brow.

A bright smile lightened up his face and he didn’t hesitate to climb up the steps to sit down beside her.

“I suppose so,” Arthur whispered into her ear. “But do not tell the White Bull. Besides, I prefer the jousting competition. Last time the Prince unhorsed me, but this time I am determined to win. And guess who I intend to crown, sweet sister?”

Ashara was momentarily confused. Arthur had always dreamed to join the Kingsguard and while he had certainly bedded his fair share of women, she doubted he would risk the King’s wrath by taking a lover.

“Gods, you are clueless, aren’t you?” he asked, his smile growing brighter with every passing moment. “I am talking about you.”

“Me?” Ashara asked and laughed. She leaned closer and placed a soft kiss on his cheek “You are being silly, dear brother. You should crown Princess Elia. I am sure it would help to lift her spirits. Last time I spoke to her she referred to herself as a walrus, which is quite a silly thing to say. If anything, Princess Elia is far too thin given her current state. At least that is what Maester said.”

Arthur nodded his head and was about to open his mouth, when the blow of a horn rang over courtyard and silenced the crowd.

Ashara shuddered with excitement as the horn was sounded a second time. Within the blink of a moment, the yard was filled with the thunder of horse hooves and the clinking of swords, axes, spears and shields. The weapons were blunted, but that didn’t change the fact that Ashara’s heart was racing with excitement as her gaze tried to follow the movements of the knights.

Sadly, she had no one to cheer for, because both Arthur and Brandon Stark had refrained from partaking in the melee. Arthur, because he was lazy and Brandon, because he had received a sprained shoulder in his tilt against the Prince. Ashara had been surprised at his anger over such a silly loss, but then Brandon was a proud man. Thus, she wasn’t surprised when she didn’t find him seated among his siblings, Lord Eddard Stark, Lord Benjen Stark and Lady Lyanna Stark. Still, that didn’t change the fact that he had sent his squire to ask for her company. So far they had only stolen kisses, but Ashara’s heart desired more and it seemed that Brandon Stark shared her. It made her wonder if he would be as passionate beneath the sheets as he was about pursing her…

The loud cheers of the crowed startled her and she quickly directed her gaze back to the battlefield. She must have shivered, because a moment later she felt Arthur’s touch on her shoulder.

“Look,” Arthur whispered into her ear and pointed at the massive man of steel, seated atop a brown horse. His helmet was wrought in the form antlers and he carried a massive war hammer, which he slashed at every enemy standing in his path. “That’s the infamous Robert Baratheon!”

Ashara nodded her head in understanding as her gaze followed the man’s horse. Briefly, he disappeared in a cloud of dust, only to emerge later to throw another opponent from his horse. The young knight had barely been able to lift his axe, before the Lord of the Stormlands had slashed his hammer into the visor of his helmet.

Ashara winced at the man’s cry of pain and tightened her grip on Arthur’s arm. Slowly, she leaned closer to whisper into his ear. “It is true what they say. He fights like a madman.”

“True,” Arthur agreed and grimaced as the Lord of the Stormlands felled another opponent. Said man had tried to prick the Lord of the Stormlands with his spear and had promptly landed on his ass. “But the White Bull will make quick work of him.”

Ashara smiled and she suddenly recalled Brandon’s bet.

“The Lord of the Stormlands looks very eager to win and I think I know the reason. He made a bet with his future good-brother, Brandon Stark.”

At the mention of Brandon Stark, her brother tensed instantly, though he tried to hide his discomfort behind a smile.

“Well, I say it again. I am willing to bet that the White Bull is going to kick Robert Baratheon’s ass,” Arthur replied in a challenging tone.

Relived to see him so confident, she leaned closer.

“A hundred gold dragons on Robert Baratheon, dear brother.”

Arthur nodded his head and squeezed her arm. “Two hundred gold dragons on the White Bull.”

“Done,” Ashara agreed without hesitation and shifted her attention back to the spectacle. By now several of the opponents had been eliminated and four knights were left, though within the blink of a moment Robert Baratheon had reduced them to three.

Said opponent had barely managed to parry Robert Baratheon’s blow to his head, but it was the second blow that had decided the fight, the sound of splintering wood filling their ears after the Lord of the Stormlands had split his opponent’s shield in two pieces.

As if willed by the gods themselves, only the White Bull and Robert Baratheon where left to meet each other in battle.

And Robert Baratheon certainly didn’t waste time to attack. He wheeled his horse around and urged it towards the White Bull, his warhammer raised for attack. Seeing the enemy ahead, the White Bull lifted his shield and absorbed the savage blow. Unlike Robert Bratheon’s past opponent, the White Bull equaled him in strength prowess.

Almost easily, the White Bull parried Robert Baratheon’s savage blows and retaliated with equal strength. He first aimed at his opponent’s head, but his blunt sword glanced off Robert Baratheon’s steel helmet, making the metal sing. Yet this failure didn’t hinder the White Bull’s approach. Merciless, he dealt Robert Baratheon a barrage of blows, that must have left the Lord of the Stormlands laboring for air, because his movements slowed down considerably.

Ashara realized then that her gold was wasted. Not long after, the White Bull’s fierce attacks managed to drive Robert Baratheon’s horse into a frenzy. The animal reared fearfully and a moment later the Lord of the Stormlands found himself sprawled on the ground, his form disappearing in a thick cloud of dust.

When he emerged again, he was back on his feet, but that didn’t change the fact that the White Bull had decided this melee in his favor.

“It seems you owe me one hundred gold dragons, sweet sister,” Arthur whispered into her ear and clapped along with the crowd.

“It seems so,” Ashara replied and watched as Robert Baratheon stumbled from the yard, his cloak dirty from the red sand covering the ground. He looked angry and threw his helmet at his poor squire. “You will have your coin on the morrow.”

“Don’t fret about it, sister,” Arthur replied and placed a kiss on her brow. “You owe me nothing. I was only teasing you, though I am not sad that Robert Baratheon was put in his place.”

Ashara nodded her head, though she was slightly surprised by her brother’s open hostility towards the man. Arthur was not a man easily angered, but she believed to know where his dislike stemmed from.

Elia had never confirmed it to her, but more than once Ashara had heard the Prince and the Princess speak about the rumors concerning Robert Baratheon and his allies.

 _A conspiracy in the making_ , Elia had called it, though Ashara hadn’t heard enough of their talk to know if it was true.

“Well, he lost,” Ashara remarked, rose to her feet and pulled her shawl around her shoulders. Then, she graced her brother with a smile. “But as it happens I am free today. How about getting something to eat? I am famished and I spotted a vendor selling honeyfingers. Your favorite dish.”

Arthur smiled like a little boy and offered his arm to her. “You know me well, sweet sister.”

Dark clouds were gathering on the distant horizon as they walked along the booths lining the dusty street, snaking its way through the hilly landscape spreading beyond Harrenhall. Despite the promise of rain, the people remained cheerful and lively.

She saw young ladies participating in a ball game, squires competing in a wrestling match, minstrels filling the air with sweet songs, fools in motley hopping in circles around a group of giggling children and many more sights that filled her heart with joy.

“This must be the grandest tourney in a hundred years,” Ashara declared enthusiastically and sucked in a lungful of fresh air. Here outside from Harrenhall, the air smelled fresh and was heavy with the scent of flowers. “Though I fear it will rain tonight.”

“Probably,” Arthur agreed and nibbled on his last piece of honeyfingers. “I suppose we should return to the castle. I am sure Princess Elia will soon ask for your service.”

“You are quite right,” she lied, hiding her true intentions. She had no doubt that her brother knew about her secret meetings with Brandon Stark, but she had no intention to hear his opinion on the matter. She had endured enough of his disapproving looks when she had been briefly courted by Prince Oberyn Martell. “I should leave.”

“I shall see you soon, sister,” Arthur assured her and kissed her cheek.

“I shall see you soon,” Ashara promised, adjusted her shawl and made her way back to the castle gates, standing wide open like the mouth of a dragon.

It was not hard for her to find her way to the Stark camp, though she had wrapped her shawl around her hair to avoid attention. As expected, one of the guards stopped her along the way, his greedy eyes roaming over her bosom, though that was to be expected. Her pale-green summer dress left little room for imagination.

“I am here to see, Lord Brandon,” she informed them and pointed at the wolf crest branded on the letter she had received from Brandon’s squire. “He is expecting me.”

Realization washed over their faces and allowed their entrance.

One of them was even so kind as to lead her to Brandon’s tent.

As she entered she found Brandon propped up against a heap of pillows. He was garbed in a simple white tunic, breeches and boots, an old cloak wrapped loosely around his shoulders. His hair was slightly tousled, but his smile was as bright as ever as he laid eyes on her.

"Lady Ashara," he greeted her enthusiastically and took a sip from the cup of wine in his hand. "Do you care for a cup of wine and a pinch of milk of the poppy?"

Ashara chuckled and waved her hands at him as she stepped towards him to inspect his bandaged arm.

"Does it hurt?" she asked softly and sat down beside him on the bed covered with thick pelts. "I had hoped to find you better."

He grinned, placed his cup back on the nearby table and leaned over to touch her hand.

"Please, do not think that. I feel much better, now that I have laid eyes on you, my Lady. Even the milk of the poppy couldn't have granted me as much relief as your beautiful sight."

Ashara's cheeks burned as he pressed his lips to her hand.

"That's good to hear, my Lord," she replied longingly and leaned closer after he had dropped her hand. "I was worried when I didn’t find you seated among your family."

He chuckled breathily and wound his unaffected arm around her shoulder, pulling her closer.

"I am not easy to kill," he whispered and placed his lips on hers. She returned the kiss, her insides alight with a familiar fire as his hand smoothed through her hair and his tongue brushed over hers. It felt so good and she didn't want it to end, but it did when she instinctively touched his bandaged shoulder.

"Ahh...," Brandon gasped, a half smile curling on his lips.  "I think you are planning to kill me..."

Ashara backed away fearfully, her eyes searching his face for a hint of pain.

Surprisingly, Brandon started to laugh. It was a rich laugh, that made stomach flutter like a hive of bees.

"Oh, please don't given me this fearful look, because I cannot endure to see you sad, my Lady," he teased and leaned closer to place soft kisses on her cheeks and brow while his unaffected hand played with the strings of a dress. It was a simple summer dress and she could easily discard it by pulling it over her head. This was the very reason she chosen it, though the reasonable part of her mind held her back.

 _Brandon is betrothed_ , she reminded herself again, but her heart was stronger than her reason and she leaned into his touch, his lips brushing over her lips and cheeks. As if he had been waiting for this, he slung his arm around her neck and pulled her into another heated kiss, their hands pulling on each other’s clothing. As she had hoped, Ashara’s dress posed no great difficulty, but Brandon’s tunic was a different matter. His bandaged arm forced her to stop their attentions momentarily and she had to be very careful not to harm him.

Once she had managed to pull off his tunic, she returned into his embrace, his unharmed hand fumbling with the strings of her dress. In the end she had to help him along, but soon her breasts were bared to him.

She didn’t now why, but she suddenly felt very self-conscious. People had always complimented her on her beauty, but her small breasts were always something she had disliked about herself.

Brandon didn’t seem to share her views and brushed her hands away. Then, he leaned closer and touched her breast with his mouth while his other hand drifted down across her belly, pulling her smallclothes down her thighs. His touch was precise, but there was a need behind them that set her insides aflame.

She had to bite her lips, to stifle her gaps. Eventually, she stepped out of her smallclothes, leaving her completely naked.

She shuddered when Brandon lifted his gaze, his grey eyes blown and dark like burning coals.

 _He wants me_ , she thought in relief. _Just as much as I want him._

Yet she felt a hint of fear at the prospect of giving her maidenhead to him.

He seemed to sense her discomfort and stopped the movement of his hand.

“Did I do something wrong, my Lady?”

She shook her head and touched his cheek. She was torn between baring her insecurities to him and brushing it off as if it was nothing, but in the end she decided to be honest.

“My father would not approve if I give my maidenhead to you,” she admitted and held her breath as she searched his face. “And you are betrothed.”

A moment of silence passed between them as he grasped her hand and squeezed it.

His smile was warm and charming as ever. It sent a jolt of desire through her body, but he had yet to speak his mind on the matter.

“My father wouldn’t approve of our entanglement either,” he explained in a seductive voice and brought her hand to his lips. “He wants me to wed Lord Hoster Tully’s daughter. She is a pretty girl, but her presence bores me. She is nothing compared to you. I do not love her. This I can assure you.”

His honest words had brushed away her fears, her mind hazy with desire.

“Do you love me?” she inquired almost shyly.

He chuckled and he pulled her closer, causing her to fall into his lap.

“Love you?” he asked enthusiastically, kissed her stomach and nuzzled the space between her breasts. “For you I would move the heavens, my Lady! I shall ask my father to forget about this betrothal. I think my brother Ned is much better suited for Lady Catelyn than I.”

Ashara was taken back by his brazen answer. She had expected hesitation on his part, but it seemed there had never been no reason for her to be worried.

 _He loves me_ , she thought, her heartbeat speeding up at his admission. _Why else would he consider forgoing such a fine match?_

“If you say so,” Ashara added softly and sat down in his lap. “You know your brother better than I and I have never met Lady Catelyn Tully…” she trailed off as he pressed her tighter against his body, his lips capturing hers.

Ashara’s cheeks burned as she felt the evidence of his desire brushing against her stomach.

Gasping for air, she pulled away. Gathering her courage, she tried to snake her hands between Brandon’s legs towards the bindings of his breeches, but he was faster and stopped her.

“You are still dressed,” she teased, trying to sound seductive. “Don’t you think that is a bit unfair?”

“Certainly,” he confirmed and let go of her hand, before pulling himself to his feet. “But I am still able to do this on my own.”

As promised, he managed undo the knot and pulled down his breeches and smallclothes in one quick movement.

The sight of him didn’t disappoint either and within the blink of a moment she was back in his embrace. They kissed, her hands tugging on Brandon’s hair while his hand moved further down to work between her legs.

It was not the first time that someone had touched her there. Elia had touched her there a hundred times and Ashara had always returned that favor in equal measure, but this was different. Brandon lacked the Elia’s patience and at times he was even a bit too fast for her taste, but Ashara didn’t wish to dim the mood and gently grasped his hand, her lips capturing his in a lingering kiss.

He was just as eager and pressed her back on the bed covered in furs.

Ashara had heard from others that it would hurt, but when Brandon finally parted her legs and entered her she felt nothing but a satisfying fullness that made her sigh.

She closed her eyes briefly, trying to regain her composure, but Brandon gave her no reprieve. He took her rough and hard, and she liked it, but it ended all so quickly when Brandon made a breathless grunt and sank down on her, his body suddenly limp and weak.

“Are you well?” she asked him after he had regained his composure, though his breathing was still slightly labored. She simply couldn’t resist the temptation to tease him. “Was it perhaps too much for you, my Lord?”

“You are a minx!” Brandon laughed hoarsely and rolled to his side. “Give me a bit of time and we may try again and again…as often as you like.”

Ashara chuckled and leaned into his embrace, all her fears gone from her mind.

“I fear you are not going to survive that, my Lord.”

…


	9. Lyanna

**Lyanna**

Lyanna waited until her two handmaids had finally fallen asleep, before slipping out into the darkness. She had long discarded her nightgown and had changed into more practical clothing, namely her worn-out boots, riding breeches and a knee-long tunic.

She moved slowly, finding the guards engrossed in an avid conversation over a cup of wine. One of them was also asleep, his head leaned against a tree trunk.

They would never allow her to pass, but due to her and Benjen’s explorations she had found a way to evade Brandon’s guards. It meant that she had to crawl through mud and shrubbery, but getting dirty had never stopped Lyanna Stark from pursuing something she wanted.

And she wanted to see the Prince. Desperately so, though she tried to deny it.

 _It would be my honour to see you again_ , the Prince had told her during their last meeting, but she hadn’t believed it until she found the folded paper slipped beneath her pillow. At first, she had thought it a jape, but once she had seen the three-headed-dragon imprinted on the red wax crest, she knew that it was true.

 _Meet me at the stables_ , the letter had said and the best solution would have been to burn it, but she hadn't been able to do it. The Prince had risked the King’s wrath by allowing her to go free and thus Lyanna thought it only right that she would repay his favor.

That her heart was pounding every time she thought about their shared kiss only added to her madness.

 _That’s it_ , she thought with amusement as she brushed a twig from her face and finally reached the other side of the wooden area. _I am going mad._

Along the wooden area swirled a muddy road, leading up to the castle gates. Guards japed and played a game of dice as she passed, their spears glittering in the torchlight.

Not wishing to arouse attention, she had pulled the hood of her cloak over her head to hide her womanly features.

It seemed to work, because none of the guards addressed her, which meant they probably thought her a squire or a servant.

Once she had passed the gates, she changed her pace and followed the corridors and bridges connecting the blackened walls and towers. She feared to find her betrothed lurking around the corner, though she knew what a silly thought that was. Robert had been very angered about his loss in the melee and had drowned one cup after another to ease his disappointment. He was probably vomiting his guts out.

By the time she reached the stables, her breathing was laboured and her brows were covered with sweat.

As she approached the entrance of the stable yard, she lowered her hood and slipped inside.

She kept her gaze fixed on the ground, the whinnying of the horses ringing in her ears and the smell of hay filling her nose.

Walking slowly, she took in the colourful sigils painted on each box. The letter hadn’t told her where to meet and thus she decided to seek out the Prince’s box.

After a while, she finally found the sigil of the three-headed dragon painted on a black door. The destrier whickered as if to greet her and when she lifted her hand to pat his wet nose, he brushed his head against the palm of her hand.

“His name is Balerion,” a familiar voice explained. “And he seems to like you, my Lady.”

Lyanna shivered slightly as she felt his soft touch on her shoulder.

“He is black as the night,” Lyanna replied in a trembling voice and turned around to face Prince Rhaegar.

He had exchanged his fine garments for a pair of brown breeches, a grey wool tunic and a black cloak that reminded Lyanna of the wings of a bat. As always, his hair was braided out of his face, though a handful of silver strands were hanging loosely into his face.

“Sadly, he is not as mighty as the real Balerion,” he remarked. It was probably meant as a jape, but there was always a hint of sadness ringing in his voice. “They say he was massive.”

Lyanna chuckled and fiddled with the hem of her tunic. She always felt confused in his presence. It felt as if her heart was trying to flee from her chest whenever he looked or smiled at her.

“Have you waited long, my Lady?” Prince Rhaegar inquired. “I wasn’t sure if you would come.”

“Not long,” she replied in a quiet whisper, her eyes darting back to the black destrier. His eyes were two pools of darkness. “Are we going to stay here?”

The Prince chuckled lightly, leaned closer and took her hand. He was gentle as always and pulled her along towards another box.

This one harboured a beautiful grey stead.

“This is Dusk,” Prince Rhaegar explained and leaned closer to pat the horse’s head. “This one is Ser Arthur’s mount, but for tonight he will be yours. You must take good care of him my Lady. Arthur is very fond of him."

Lyanna was struck with surprise when she heard this and it took several heartbeats before she had regained her composure.

Her own horse Stormchaser was a fine mount, but nothing compared to this one. This one had been bred in Dorne, a fitting horse for a famous man like the Sword of the Morning.

For a moment, she even wanted to refuse, but the Prince silenced her with a smile.

“Ser Arthur won’t mind. I promise.”

This one was not just one of his ghost-like smiles. This one was a true smile, sad and sweet at once.

“Very well,” she agreed at last and returned his smile. “I shall take good care of you, Dusk.”

The Prince chuckled and let go of her hand. “That’s what I wanted to hear. Now, saddle up and let’s get going. The God’s Eye awaits us.”

“The God’s Eye,” Lyanna whispered and searched the Prince’s face. “Why there?”

The Prince gave her a mysterious smile.

“You will see, my Lady.”

Lyanna decided to trust him and didn’t ask any further questions. Instead she helped him prepare his horse and in return he helped her saddling Ser Arthur’s horse. Lyanna had ridden her fair share of horses, but never of such a fine breed.

They rode for an hour, leaving the castle and the tourney grounds behind him. Soon the mighty castle Harrenhall shrunk to a grotesque shadow of bent towers and bridges, lightened by hundreds of cookfires.

What followed were hills, forests and fields covered in high swaying grass bending to the pleasant breeze that was blowing from the south.

“There, my Lady,” the Prince declared and pointed ahead. Lyanna straightened herself and raised her head in said direction. “The God’s Eye.”

It didn’t take long, before Lyanna saw it too, a still black lake that harboured a single island in its midst.

“We have to get on the other side, my Lady,” the Prince explained softly and dismounted, his black cloak almost invisible in the darkness. “I am sure you will like what I am going to show you.”

Lyanna followed him along the lake, stamping through high grass until they reached a muddy shoreline.

“The boat is over there,” the Prince informed her when she stopped to sweep her gaze over the island, large trees casting their shadows over the moon-lit ground. “We will have to paddle, but it won’t take long. I hope you don’t mind a bit of arm work?”

Lyanna rolled her eyes.

“I have been training with the practice blade every day since I was able to convince my brother Benjen to train me. I know plenty about arm work, your grace.

“I shouldn’t be surprised,” the Prince said with a chuckle and hopped into the boat, before offering his hand to her.

“May I be of assistance, my Lady?” he asked teasingly.

“No need,” she replied with a grin and slapped his hand away. Then, she hopped into the boat and picked up the other paddle. “Let’s go. I need to be back before sunset, your grace.”

A gust of wind stirred the waters of the God’s Eye to life as they paddled the boat towards the island situated in the middle of the lake.

“This is the Island of Faces,” Prince Rhaegar explained later as he was fastening the boat. “According to ancient tales it was here where the Children of the Forest sealed their pact with the First Men.”

Lyanna nodded her head, recalling this piece of information from one of Old Nan’s tales, though it surprised her that a Prince of House Targaryen knew about this.

“Why did you bring me here, your grace?” she asked and sought his moon-lit face.

“Come,” he prodded instead of giving her the answer she desired and led her to a small wooden hut built near the shoreline. Carefully, he opened the door and stepped inside. A moment later he emerged, a lantern in hand. Beneath the moon-lit sky he lightened a fire, before handing her the lantern.

“Here,” he prodded and gave her an encouraging smile. “You will need this, my Lady.”

Lyanna took the lantern without hesitation and followed the Prince, who led her towards a patch of wood.

“There, my Lady,” he said and took her hand to lift the lantern. “Behold the beauty of the old gods!”

Lyanna gasped in wonder, her heart nearly jumping out through her throat. She shuddered as she beheld the beauty of a hundred weirwood trees, their twisting branches curling into each other. She had never thought that she would find so many weirwood trees beyond the Neck, but here they were, just as beautiful as the heart tree in Winterfell’s godswood. The barks were as white as fresh fallen snow and their red leaves glittered like rubies when the light of her lantern fell upon them.

“Now, my Lady,” Prince Rhaegar roused her from her stupor. “Going by the witless expression on your face I assume you are liking it.”

“Liking it,” she repeated in a breathless voice and clutched her chest. “I love it. Gods, I have never seen so many weirwood trees in one place. It is wonderful.”

Then, she turned around and said with heartfelt gratitude. “Thank you.”

“You do not need to thank me, my Lady,” the Prince assured her, his body dangerously close. She could feel the warmth wafting off his body, but he kept his distance, his face suddenly cast in shadows as he leaned closer to touch her cheek. “I also like coming here. I find these trees and their history truly fascinating. I read much about your people’s history and believes.”

Lyanna nodded her head in understanding and lifted her hand to touch his. It felt cold and she hoped that the warmth of her touch would help to drive away the coldness. She didn’t know much about dragons, but she knew most of them craved warmth.

“Is that why you are interested in me, your grace?” she asked then, her heart pounding away in her chest as she anticipated his answer.

“Your grace this and your grace that,” Prince Rhaegar teased sweetly and lifted his other hand to place it on her shoulder. “I would prefer if you called me Rhaegar…by my given name.”

Lyanna couldn’t believe her ears and sucked in a deep breath.

“Rhaegar,” she replied and swallowed hard. “Better?”

He chuckled breathily and leaned ever closer. His silver strands brushed her cheek and his scent, a mixture of lemon and mint, filled her nose.

“Much better,” he agreed and placed his lips chastely against hers. Lyanna returned the kiss, first hesitatingly and then with more favor. His lips were so soft and warm and soon she was losing herself to the sensation. Again, she felt warmth pooling between her legs and again the Prince pulled away, leaving her wanting for more…

This, time she felt almost angry, though she tried to hide her feelings.

“Lyanna,” he whispered suddenly and placed a kiss on her brow. “Would you mind if I call you by your given name?”

Lyanna couldn’t help but to smile.

“Not at all,” she assured him and exhaled deeply. “But I do not understand this…it feels like I am going mad,” she tried to explain and failed miserably. “Do you understand what I am trying to say?”

Rhaegar sighed deeply and clasped her face between his hands. “I share your madness, my Lady. I must admit…I am just as clueless as you. Mayhaps we should slow down…and simply enjoy each other’s presence. I have never courted a woman.”

Strangely, this admission helped to ease Lyanna’s fears.

“Then I am just as clueless as you, Rhaegar.”

Rhaegar laughed, pulled his cloak from his shoulders and spread it over the ground.

“And yet I am a married man and you are betrothed.”

Lyanna nodded her head, but decided that she didn’t want to speak about betrothals and marriages.

Searching desperately for a change of topic, she cast her gaze.

The beautiful sight of the stars sparked an idea.

“Can you see this star?” she asked and pointed at the glimmering blue star hidden amidst a patch of white ones. “In the North we call this star the Ice Dragon.”

“I know,” Rhaegar replied almost smugly and allowed himself to fall back on his cloak. “From atop the Wall he looks even brighter.”

Lyanna blinked once, twice and then a third time, but Rhaegar was still giving her this impassive look, his hands crossed behind his head and his legs slung over each other.

“It is true,” he confirmed, his voice laced with obvious amusement. “I have visited the Wall two times…incognito. Our first meeting should have told you that I am quite fond of disguises. It is the only way to buy myself a bit of freedom.”

Lyanna nodded her head, her mouth opening, but Rhaegar silenced her by stretching out his hand and placing his finger on her lips.

“I went there to visit my Grand-Uncle Aemon,” Rhaegar continued to explain. “He is the Maester at Castle Black and a very pleasant man. I also enjoyed scouring through Castle Black’s extensive library and would have loved to take some of the books with me, but sadly my Grand-Uncle proved very strict. Thus, I spent there several weeks, transcribing passages that struck me as important in my quest.”

Lyanna furrowed her brows and felt a hint of jealousy. She had resided her entire life in the North, but she had never laid eyes on the Wall.

“Your quest?”

“My quest,” he confirmed, his gaze growing distant. “The truth is…I didn’t just travel to the Wall to visit my Grand-Uncle. I went there to search for dragon eggs. Some people believe Queen Alysanne’s dragon left dragon eggs on the Wall.”

Lyanna stared at him in stunned silence.

She had never imagined that the Crown Prince of the Seven Kingdoms would be interested in such tales.

She found it incredibly endearing.

“And did you find dragon eggs?” she asked teasingly.

He shook his head, a sad smile curling on his lips.

“Sadly not, but there are other places.”

Seeing his sadness, she felt the urge to comfort him.

“Then you should visit Winterfell,” she suggested and smiled at him. “When my brother Benjen was a little boy, he believed that a dragon resides in the crypts of Winterfell. It is incredible warm down there, because Winterfell was built on hot springs.”

Rhaegar smiled lovingly and lifted her hand to his lips.

“I would be pleased to visit Winterfell.”

“And I would love to visit the Wall.”

He chuckled and nodded his head.

“One day…one day you will see the Wall. I am sure of it.”

…


	10. Elia

**Elia**

She had been reading when she suddenly heard a rustling sound. Instinctively, her gaze darted to the entrance on the opposing side of the pavilion.

She couldn’t help but to smile when she noticed who had returned. At first, she thought it was Rhaegar, but in truth it was Ashara.

Elia had given her leave for today and thus she was pleasantly surprised about her early return. That Rhaegar wasn’t here made it even more pleasant.

Not that she disliked his presence, but ever since they had left Dragonstone she had barely spent an hour alone with Ashara. There was always someone around, be it one of the servants or guards, who were looking over her shoulder.

As always, Elia watched her in silence, her hand resting on her swollen stomach. The babe’s kicking had kept her awake and now she was thankful for it. Otherwise she would have missed Ashara ’s return.

Graceful and tall as she was, Ashara had to bow down to fit through the opening of the pavilion, her dark hair spilling over her shoulders like a waterfall of ink.

Ever since Elia had first laid eyes on her friend, she had known that there was no one more beautiful than Lady Ashara Dayne.

Yet it was not only Ashara’s beauty that had captured Elia’s heart, but her kindness and sweet character. As a Princess of Dorne, she had known many supposed friends, but she knew their smiles had been false. She knew very well what they had been whispering behind her back. To them she had been the bedridden Princess, a stain on House Martell.

The last straw had been when Lord Tywin had refused a match between her and Ser Jaime Lannister. Instead he had offered a match to his misshapen son.

Back then Lord Tywin had still believed that his position as Hand of the King could buy him everything, among it a marriage between Prince Rhaegar and his daughter Cersei Lannister.

Yet her mother had proven him wrong and in the end it had been Elia who wed Prince Rhaegar.

In truth, Elia had not shared her mother’s enthusiasm about the match. She had never wanted to leave Dorne, but then she could have hardly refused her ailing mother.

Thus, she had ended up here, wed to a man she didn’t love and that didn’t love her either.

At times, her heart craved to leave her duty behind her, to bare her heart to her brother Doran, but then she also knew that she would never find understanding in her ever-serious brother. He was too much like her mother to be able to understand her feelings.

Oberyn might, but entrusting him with her secret would be far too dangerous. He might end up doing something stupid.

“You are still awake, Princess,” Ashara said in a startled voice and straightened herself. She looked slightly flustered, but a smile curled on her full lips. “Are you feeling sick?”

Elia smiled warmly and touched the swell of her stomach.

“I am well. The babe has been keeping me awake, but I think it has finally settled. I think I will return to bed,” she explained and pulled herself into a sitting position. “Would you care to keep me company?”

If Ashara was bothered by her request, it didn’t show on her face.

On the contrary, she offered her help and was steadying Elia as they walked back to her bed.

The air turned slightly warmer as they stepped into the small round room, laid out with rich carpets and pelts. Otherwise, her lodging was rather simple. There was a bed, a table made of red cherrywood, a pair of chairs and of course a brazier to keep the room warm.

Ashara helped her climb into bed, before she started to pull off her green summer dress. Stripped down to her undertunic, Ashara folded her dress and put it back into the strongbox placed not far from the bed.

“Come,” Elia prodded gently and pulled the bedding over her shoulders. “It is getting cold. I don’t want you to get sick.”

Ashara smiled as she climbed into bed, her white thighs bared. Elia felt the sudden urge to brush her hands over them and to kiss her like she had done a hundred times before, but something held her back. Nobody would think it strange if her handmaid slept in her bed, but the walls of the pavilion were thin and Ashara was not the quietest person.

 _Me either_ , Elia thought with amusement. Yet it also made her long for the safety of Dragonstone, where she could have simply dismissed her guards.  _Rhaegar was right. I should have never come here._

“Can you move?” Ashara inquired gently and Elia complied happily, though it took a bit of effort to move her body to the side. Yet all of this didn’t matter when she felt Ashara’s warm body brushing against hers.

Elia smiled and didn’t hesitate to curl her arm around Ashara’s shoulder.

Ashara’s silken hair brushing against Elia’s cheek felt so soft but her smell…her smell was strangely different. There was a foreign smell hidden among the lavender perfume Ashara liked to use.

It was the smell of a sweat and something different…the smell of a man.

Elia shouldn’t have been surprised, but she couldn’t help but to pull her hand away. She knew that Ashara had been stealing kisses with Brandon Stark, but that was not unusual. Ashara was a beautiful woman and had many admirers, though her father would prefer for her to finally get wed.

Ashara, who must have noticed her reaction, gave her questioning look.

“Did I say something wrong?” she inquired and brushed her dark hair over her shoulder.

“No,” Elia replied hesitatingly, but couldn’t help to question her further. “I am just wondering…Where have you been? I gave you leave for the entire day, but it is several hours past midnight.”

Ashara sighed deeply and straightened herself.

“I visited Lord Brandon Stark,” was all Ashara said in return, her cheeks suddenly flushed.

Her answer confirmed Elia’s fear.

“Have you?” Elia asked softly. “Half the night?”

“He was hurt,” Ashara explained and pulled the bedding around her shoulders. “And he was in need of my comfort.”

Elia exhaled deeply, fearing the worst. She had always known that she would have to share Ashara with a man, but this Lord Brandon Stark was betrothed and she had heard conflicting rumors about his reputation.

“And did you comfort him?” Elia asked and searched her beloved friend’s face.

Ashara’s blush intensified and she looked hesitant.

“I didn’t mean to anger you,” Ashara apologized and shrugged her shoulders as if it had meant nothing. “But I am nearly twenty and it is hard to resist his smiles.”

As always, Elia felt the sting of jealousy, but then it would be wrong of Elia to expect more of Ashara. Elia had also chosen duty over Ashara when she had agreed to marry Rhaegar.

No, now was not the time for petty jealousy. This was a serious matter, that concerned Ashara’s future.

“I see.”

Ashara, who seemed to notice her discomfort, moved closer and pulled on her arm.

“Please don’t fret about it, Elia,” Ashara asked of her in a pleading tone. “He promised his love…,” she continued, but Elia couldn’t help but to cut her off.

“Promised his love?” Elia asked and wrinkled her brows in confusion. “Brandon Stark is betrothed to Catelyn Tully and I doubt an ambitious man like Lord Hoster Tully would tolerate such a slight.”

Ashara looked like slapped and backed away.

“Brandon is not like that,” Ashara countered, her lips trembling with emotions. “He told me that he doesn’t love Lady Catelyn and that he is going to break the betrothal.”

Elia stared at Ashara in disbelief.

“Ashara,” Elia implored and touched Ashara’s shoulder, forcing her to look at her. “Open your eyes. Brandon Stark is no nobody, but the heir to the North. Jilting Hoster Tully’s daughter would not only anger the Lord of the Riverlands, but also Brandon Stark’s father, Lord Rickard Stark. In the best case he would be disinherited and in the worst he would be send to the Wall to make place for his younger brother.”

“That’s not true,” Ashara insisted and freed her shoulder from her grasp, before climbing out of the bed. “Brandon is not the kind of man who would allow his father to send him to the Wall. Besides, he told me that he is prepared to face any hardship as long as he can be with me.”

“Ashara,” Elia implored again. “Tell me…Did he give you this promise before or after he took you to bed?”

“Before,” Ashara replied confidently and shook her head. “You will see…he will choose me. He wouldn’t lie to me in such a vile manner.”

Elia didn’t know what to say. She had said her part and had upset the person dearest to her heart.

 _Have I gone too far_ , she wondered.  _Was this my jealousy speaking?_

Her fear was confirmed when she lifted her head and saw tears glittering in Ashara’s eyes.

“You are right,” Elia said and pulled herself into a sitting position. “That was unworthy of me to say. I do not know Brandon Stark…forgive me.”

Ashara’s gaze softened at her admission.

“You mean it?” Ashara asked skeptically and stepped towards Elia. “You are not angry?”

Elia nodded her head in confirmation and exhaled deeply.

As she was about to open her mouth, she felt a sting of pain wash over her stomach.

Fear showed on Ashara’s face and she was immediately at her side, her slender fingers brushing over Elia’s cheek.

“Are you well?”

Elia laughed.

“I am well,” Elia confirmed and squeezed Ashara’s hand. “But it seems the babe woke up.”

“Oh,” Ashara said, relief evident on her face. “I thought the worst.”

“I shall be fine,” Elia assured her and angled her head to place a soft kiss on Ashara’s knuckles. “Though I doubt I will get much sleep tonight. Well, you should sleep. You look tired.”

Ashara smiled mildly and accepted her peace offering by slipping back beneath the bedding.

“You are right…I am rather exhausted,” Ashara whispered.

“This Brandon Stark must be a bull,” Elia remarked teasingly.

Ashara giggled and covered her mouth.

“On the contrary,” Ashara added a moment later, trying to hold back her laughter. “He is very passionate, but quick, though that is understandable, considering his mind and other parts were doused by the milk of the poppy.”

Elia chuckle and curled her hand around Ashara’s shoulder.

“I am honest with you, Ashara. I do not trust this Brandon Stark, but if he is really prepared to wed you I am willing to help you. I shall ask Rhaegar to provide him with an appropriate income or perhaps even a position at court. I want to keep you close.”

Ashara’s smile was as bright as a star.

“You would do this for me?”

“Of course,” Elia confirmed and brushed her hand through Ashara’s hair. Then, she leaned closer to place a kiss on her lips. “I would do everything for you.”

Fresh tears glittered in Ashara’s eyes as she buried her head in Elia’s shoulder.

“I thank you…and I promise you. I shall never leave you.”

It was an hour after sunset when Elia rose from her bed to make water and when she was about to return to bed she saw Rhaegar slipping through the entrance of the pavilion.

He looked as if he had gone on one of his trips. He was garbed in a black cloak, his silver hair disheveled and freed from its braid. She also noticed twigs and leaves sticking in the hood of his cloak and mud covering his boots.

“Rhaegar,” she greeted and pulled her cloak tighter around her shoulders. “Where have you been? You look as if you crawled through the woods.”

“I travelled to the Island of Faces,” he replied promptly and pulled his cloak from his shoulders. Then, he sat down and started to pull off his dirty boots. Once he was done, he poured himself a cup of wine and drank deeply.

Elia had watched him in silence, waiting patiently until he would grace her with an explanation. She had long learned that expecting a quick answer from Rhaegar was the wrong way to approach him.

Leaning back in his chair, he brushed his hair out of his face and lifted his head to take in her appearance.

“You look tired,” he remarked, his voice weary. “Has the babe kept you awake?”

“Aye,” she confirmed and realized that he was trying to avoid the elephant in the room. Rhaegar and her held no passionate love for each other, but he was usually not hesitant to give her the truth. “But that doesn’t answer my question. Why go to this cursed island?”

“I didn’t go alone,” he added in a heavy voice and averted his gaze. He stared at the floor, bit his lips and shifted his attention back to her. “I went there with Lady Lyanna Stark.”

Elia was momentarily confused, but when she noticed his guilt-ridden expression everything fell into place. He had of course told her about Lady Lyanna Stark and how she had defended the honor of one of her father’s bannermen, but she hadn’t thought much of it until now.

“I see,” she said and sat down at the table. “But I am still struggling to understand you. Could you please elaborate? I cannot read your mind, Rhaegar.”

He nodded his head, a handful of silver strands falling into his face.

He brushed them away and leaned forward, his dark eyes piercing into hers. They lacked their usual sadness and were filled with newfound resolution.

“Lady Lyanna was the Knight of the Laughing Tree,” he said at last. “I came about her in the woods and let her go free, though I confiscated her shield.”

“The shield you gave to your father,” she concluded, still waiting for the reason why he had taken Lady Lyanna Stark to the Island of Faces.

“But you have yet to…,” she began, but Rhaegar cut her off, the truth finally spilling from his mouth.

“The truth is…I have taken a liking to her,” he admitted and blushed. “That is why I took her there…to show her the weirwood trees.”

Elia fell silent, taking her time to absorb this new piece of information. More than once, after Rhaenys’ difficult birth, Rhaegar had brought up the idea of taking a mistress, an idea Elia had refused, but then there was no guarantee this babe would be the heir they were hoping for. If this babe was another girl Rhaegar would have no choice but to father a son on another woman as it was very unlikely that Elia would conceive again. Had it been any another noble woman, Elia would have shrugged her shoulders and accepted it, but this was the daughter of a Lord Paramount, a man who was presumedly planning treason…

“Elia,” Rhaegar said, his voice laced with sadness. “Do you understand what I am trying to say?”

Elia nodded her head and forced a smile over her lips.

“That you want to make Lady Lyanna your mistress.”

Rhaegar sighed deeply and shook his head.

“No,” he said intently and leaned over to touch her hand. “I want to marry her. Rickard Stark wouldn’t accept anything less.”

Elia stared at him in disbelief.

“Our marriage has been consummated. No Septon in the Seven Kingdoms will be prepared to perform such a ceremony.”

Rhaegar nodded his head in confirmation.

“I am aware of that fact, but I have no need of a Septon. I intent to marry Lyanna under the Faith of the Old Gods. Among her people such a marriage would be accepted, regardless of the Faith of the Seven. Besides, it wouldn’t be the first time a Targaryen took a second wife. What counts is that Robert Baratheon cannot claim her for his own and more importantly any chance of an alliance by blood between the North and the Stormlands would be obsolete.”

At the first glance, Rhaegar’s reasoning made sense, but considering the matter deeper she couldn’t help but to find weaknesses in his plan. She also had yet to make sense of what he had said earlier.

 _I have taken a liking to her_ , he had said and yet he was speaking of destroying allegiances. Unless, it wasn’t really the allegiance itself that irked him so, but something different.

No, this wasn’t just about politics. Rhaegar was clearly jealous of Robert Baratheon. She had heard it in the way he had said his name, his voice laced with suppressed anger.

It seemed Rhaegar had not taken a mere liking to Lady Lyanna Stark, but was also infatuated with her.

“So, you think Rickard Stark might pledge his support to you?”

Rhaegar nodded his head and tightened his grip on the handle of his chair, his knuckles turning white.

“What I heard of the Starks tells me that Rickard Stark would not go against his own daughter. Lyanna’s children shall be Princes and Princesses. Not even Robert Baratheon can offer that to Rickard Stark. If need be I will legitimize them.”

“There will still be those who will question her children’s legitimacy,” Elia countered, but not out of malice. “My brother Doran among them. A mistress he might tolerate, but not a second wife.”

Rhaegar nodded his head, his face a grimace of pain.

Seeing his pain, she felt the need to comfort him.

“That said,” she added hesitatingly and leaned over to touch his hand. “It is not like we have to tell Doran about the marriage…at least not until we have removed your father from power, which brings me to my next question. When and how do you intend to marry her?”

Rhaegar stared at her in disbelief.

“You agree?”

Elia pursed her lips and tapped her fingers on the wooden table as she considered the different options available to them, before giving her answer.

“I have agreed to nothing,” she replied at last and met his gaze. “But I think your idea is not without merit. In the best-case Rickard Stark will accept the marriage and pledge his support to us and in the worst case the alliance between the Stormlands and the North will be prevented. There is no way Robert Baratheon would be prepared to wed a spoiled bride and none of his Lords would go to war because of a jilted betrothal. Yet first I need to know how you intend to go about wedding.”

“As soon as possible,” Rhaegar answered and leaned back. “I intend to wed Lady Lyanna as soon as possible…if she is willing.”

Elia felt the urge to laugh.

“You haven’t even asked her?”

An almost anxious expression took hold of his face.

“I first wanted to get your approval,” he explained to her and shrugged with his shoulders. “I doubt Lyanna will agree unless I have your approval.”

“A mindful girl you have fallen for,” she concluded. “But I cannot give my approval, unless you give me certain assurances. Will you hear me?”

Rhaegar nodded his head.

“Please speak your mind.”

“If our babe is a boy…,” she said and placed her hand on her swollen stomach. “I want you to promise me that he will remain your heir. And if this babe is a girl…I want your promise that Rhaenys will be wed to Lady Lyanna’s firstborn son. I owe so much to my mother.”

“Of course,” Rhaegar confirmed in a relieved tone. “Your status was never in question. You will be my Queen.”

“Then I agree,” Elia replied. “And I also have an idea how we can keep Lady Lyanna close.”

Rhaegar gave her a surprised look.

“How?”

“I will offer to make her one of my ladies-in-waiting.”

“I also entertained this thought,” Rhaegar said, a seldom smile curling on his lips. “But I first I need to convince her…she is not exactly like most ladies.”

Elia couldn’t help but to chuckle. Rhaegar had read more books than the average Maester, but when it came to everyday life he could be as clueless as a babe.

“I think I know how you can convince her,” Elia said and smiled at Rhaegar.

“Care to hear my advice?”

Rhaegar gave a silent nod and Elia began to explain…

…


	11. Ned

**Ned**

The Prince of Dragonstone looked like a hero from the songs. His black armour shone like polished obsidian and the red-rubies on his chest glittered like fallen stars. And the Prince’s abilities with the lance hadn’t disappointed either. Two champions he had already unhorsed and if he continued like this he might even win this tourney.

Not that Ned cared. He had never held much love for these self-indulgent knights. War was no game, though he had yet to see his first maiden battle. He was not foreign to hard training either, though Ned would never be able to measure up to men like his friend Robert Baratheon or his brother Brandon.

Yet Ned couldn’t help but to nurse a hint of satisfaction. Not long ago, Prince Rhaegar had unhorsed Brandon and had dealt him a humiliating defeat. A whole day he had spent grumbling about his loss, pointing out all kinds of reason why he had lost, other than the real one: the fact that Prince Rhaegar was the better jouster.

“Lady Ashara’s brother is competing against the Princeling,” he heard Robert’s grumbling voice. His friend’s annoyance was evident, but that was no surprise to Ned. The tourney was nearly over and Lyanna had mostly ignored his presence, though he was sure this was not the reason for his ill-mood. The real reason was that he had lost the seven-sided-melee against Ser Gerold Hightower. “I heard from Ser Richard Lonmouth that they are as close as brothers. It wouldn’t surprise me if Ser Arthur allowed him to win.”

Ned sighed deeply and watched as Ser Arthur Dayne took his respective place at the other side of the tiltyard. His polished plate armor and his snow-white cloak stood in stark contrast against the Prince’s dark armor and fiery cloak. Ned had seen the Prince’s abilities, but Ser Arthur Dayne was a different kind of opponent.

“I doubt a that, my Lord,” Brandon added to Ned’s surprise. He was seated next to Lyanna, his back straight and his dark grey eyes fixed on Ser Arthur Dayne. “Ser Arthur Dayne is a man of honor, a true knight. Prince Rhaegar will have to earn his victory.”

Robert grumbled an unhappy reply that Ned didn’t understand, but his attention was soon directed back to the impending match, his gaze following Prince Rhaegar.

The Prince’s mighty black destrier huffed as he urged the animal into a quick gallop, his silken cloak fluttering after him like a plumage of a bird.

A sound like rolling thunder filled the courtyard as the horses drove towards each other, only to be drowned out by the splattering of the wooden lances. Dust blurred their sight and Ned couldn’t help but to notice Benjen’s twitching feet. He had long abandoned his seat and was standing leaned against the wooden balustrade to get a better look at the tiltyard below. Lyanna looked tense, her hands tightly folded in front of her and her light grey eyes fixed on the opponents.

Hooting and cheers could be heard when they found both riders still seated atop their horses. The cheers and the tension only grew as they led their horses back to their squires, awaiting them to exchange their lances.

The blowing of the horn came and went, followed by the familiar sound of pounding horse hooves digging deep into the ground.

Prince Rhaegar’s lance was as straight as a rot and rose in his saddle. It was a subtle movement, but it decided the match in his favor, his wooden lance colliding with Ser Arthur Dayne’s chest.

Ser Arthur Dayne was less successful, his lance darting off Prince Rhaegar’s shoulder, while Ser Arthur himself found himself hanging from his saddle, his feet still caught in the stirrup.

The crowd went mad with cheers, but Prince Rhaegar ignored them and wheeled his horse around, towards Ser Arthur, who lay sprawled on the ground.

Ser Arthur looked unharmed, but it seemed Prince Rhaegar wanted to be sure. The Prince even climbed from his saddle, offered his hand to his friend and pulled him back to his feet.

The cheers grew only louder, drowning out the world around them.

“The Princeling won fair and square,” Brandon admitted grudgingly, his voice laced with displeasure. “There is no doubt about it.”

“Prince’s stance was perfect,” Benjen agreed in excitement and sat down. “Don’t you agree, Lya?”

“I agree,” Lyanna replied hesitatingly and fiddled with the wide sleeves of her dress. “But what he did could have backfired. The Prince was lucky that Ser Arthur didn’t manage to hit him.”

Robert barked with laughter and slapped his knees.

“There you have it, Ned. Even Lyanna thinks the pretty Princeling was merely lucky.”

A angry expression washed over Lyanna’s face, but that could have only been his imagination.

“I didn’t mean it like that…,” she began, but Robert wasn’t listening, his attention fixed on the tiltyard.

“Look, Ser Barristan is coming!” Benjen exclaimed excitedly and hopped back to his feet.

Even Lyanna leaned forward, her grey eyes filled with curiosity.

This was the last joust, the last act in this grand mummery they all had been part of in the last few days.

Momentarily, Ned was forced to shield his hand as Ser Barristan rode into a stream of sunlight, his polished armor reflecting the light like a mirror. It was a wonderous sight to behold.

Only the countless of rubies embellished on Prince Rhaegar’s chest were even more beautiful to behold. The maidens sighed deeply as he passed and even Lyanna cocked her head, her eyes following the movement of the Prince’s horse.

On the contrary. She looked tense and concentrated, her hands buried in her skirt.

Ned didn’t know why, but something about her behavior unsettled him. Her spilled tears for the Prince’s sad song hadn’t surprised him all too much. Lyanna had always been fond of songs, but the way his sister was biting her lips was telling. She had shown this habit from early childhood on and it usually meant that she was anxious.

It was the sound of a horn that startled him and caused him to snap his head back to the tiltyard. With their lances raised, Ser Barristan the Bold and the Prince of Dragonstone were storming towards each other, a cloud of red dust following in their wake.

To everyone’s surprise, Ser Barristan’s lance had shattered while the Prince’s lance remained almost complete.

Their gallop back to their squires was followed by a never-ending stream of cheers. The second time, their lances met at the exact same time, a loud clattering noise filling their ears.

It had all happened too quickly, but somehow Prince Rhaegar had managed to hit Ser Barristan’s chest and send him flying from his horse, only to find himself sprawled on the duty ground.

A loud burst of cheers made Ned’s ears burn as Benjen hopped from one foot to the other, a bright smile curling on his lips.

Brandon nodded his head in silent admiration while Robert grimaced in silence.

Ned didn’t know why, but he angled his head and looked at Lyanna.

She was silent, but the soft smile curling on her lips told him that she was quite pleased with the outcome of the match.

Had sister been a common maid, he might not have thought much of it, but this was Lyanna Stark, his wild little sister who had sworn that she would be a knight after she had watched Brandon go through his first lessons of swordplay.

Nonsense, he told himself and shifted his attention back to the champion of this tourney: Prince Rhaegar Targaryen.

As was custom, Prince Rhaegar led his black around the courtyard, his broken lance held high above his head. As he moved, the red plume of his helmet and his fiery cloak spread behind him like the wings of a dragon.

First, he rode back to Ser Barristan, who had long returned to a standing position. Ser Barristan waved his hand at the Prince and stumbled from the courtyard, the cheers of the crowd following him at every step.

By then the Prince had led his horse back towards the gallery where the royal family was seated.

The King was not clapping and sat grouched in his seat, his long white beard brushing the ground.

Seated not far from the King he spotted Prince Rhaegar’s wife, Princess Elia Martell. She wore a stunning dress of silk that fell around her shoulders like a river of crimson.

Her expression was unreadable as her gaze followed her husband’s horse.

Not long after, Lord Whent himself came the Prince’s way, followed by a young squire, who was probably a relative as he shared Lord Whent’s reddish-brown hair. Said boy carried a wreath of blue flowers, the crown meant for the Queen of Love and Beauty.

Carefully, Lord Whent lifted the crown from the page boy’s red cushion and slid it on Prince Rhaegar’s lance.

Once Lord Whent was done, Prince Rhaegar urged his horse into a trot, but he didn’t ride towards the royal box as Ned and probably the rest of the crowd had expected…

No, the Prince of Dragonstone was leading his horse in their direction, the clear sound of hoof beats ringing in Ned’s ears.

The cheers of the crowd had long died down and a tense silence hung over the courtyard as the Prince’s horse stopped in front of their box.

The Prince was so close that Ned could even hear the whinnying of his destrier, but his gaze was clearly fixed on Lyanna.

Lyanna’s back was turned to Ned and thus he couldn’t make out her reaction.

“I proclaim you Queen of Love and Beauty!” Prince Rhaegar declared loudly and turned his lance, allowing the crown to slid from his lance, right into Lyanna’s lap. “The fairest maid of the Seven Kingdoms!”

Lyanna’s head dipped as she regarded the crown in her lap, but Ned had no time to focus on his sister, because all eyes, noble and common alike, were fixed on them. Ned felt the urge to speak, but his mind and tongue were in knots.

Helplessly, he stared at Robert and Brandon. Robert looked grim and Brandon’s gaze could only be described as icy.

When the whispering started the Prince had led his horse away, leaving only dust and chaos in his wake. To Ned’s ears it sounded like the humming of a swarm of bees flying around his head.

“We leave!” he heard Brandon’s commanding voice. “We need to get away from here!”

Ned didn’t hesitate and leaned forward to pat Lyanna’s shoulder, who was still staring at the crown of flowers as if she didn’t know what to do with it.

Lyanna followed wordlessly and arm in arm they fled from the piercing looks of the crowd. As they passed the royal box, Ned’s gaze darted to Princess Elia and the King.

The Princess looked perfectly still, her gaze fixed on the distant horizon. His King looked less pleased, his face a grimace of anger.

Reaching the safety of their pavilion, Brandon pulled Lyanna inside, a wolfish expression taking hold of his face.

“What did you do?”

Lyanna shook her head, her loose brown locks fluttering around her face like feathers.

“Nothing,” she answered in a breathless voice, the crown still clutched in her hands. “I swear, I did not know.”

“Why did the Princeling crown you?” Robert snapped angrily, his bright blue eyes darting to the crown in his sister’s hand. “Was he trying to slight me?”

Without hesitation Lyanna met Robert’s gaze, an angry expression washing over her face.

“Not everything the Prince does has to do with you, Robert,” she said in a soft, albeit frustrated tone.

Robert blinked once, twice and a third time. It obvious that he hadn’t expected to hear such blunt words from Lyanna’s lips.

“What other reason could the Princeling have to crown you Queen of Love and Beauty?” Robert asked angrily. “He must know that we are betrothed.”

“I am sure he knows,” Lyanna countered. “Mayhaps, he meant to flatter you.”

“Did he speak to you, sister?” Brandon demanded to know and blatantly ignored Lyanna’s ludicrous explanation. “Did he approach you or perhaps one of his retinue?”

“He and Ser Arthur offered their help after they laid eyes on Lord Howland Reed’s wounds,” she explained. “We spoke briefly, but not more than that. Benjen and Lord Reed can confirm my story.”

“Benjen,” Brandon called out to their brother, who had observed their exchange in tense silence. “Is it true?”

“Aye,” Benjen confirmed and his gaze darted to Lord Reed, who was lingering at the entrance of the pavilion. ”The Prince and Ser Arthur Dayne helped us find a Maester to attend to Lord Reed’s wounds.”

“It is true, Ned,” Lord Reed confirmed. “Lord Benjen and Lady Lyanna are telling the truth.

“That explains it then,” Ned cut in. “The Prince might have taken some fancy to Lyanna and probably wanted to flatter her. Mayhaps it was only a gesture of appreciation…it would make sense, given the rumors we heard about Prince Rhaegar’s plans to depose of his father. Mayhaps he hopes to draw us on his side.”

“Fuck him,” Robert grumbled. “He will have no help of mine.”

“Mine either,” Brandon added, his gaze darting back to Lyanna, who stood frozen to the ground, the crown still clutched between her hands. “He and his mad father can kill each other for all I care.”

“Well spoken, Brandon,” Robert agreed wholeheartedly and patted Brandon’s shoulder, but Lyanna seemed less pleased.

“That’s your perception, brother,” Lyanna replied through clenched teeth, her cheeks deeply flushed. “But I feel no shame.”

Brandon’s gaze darkened.

“What do you say?”

“That I feel honored by his actions.”

Robert’s brows rose to the top of his head.

“Have you lost your mind, Lyanna?” Robert asked and his gaze flickered to the crown in her hand.

“Hand me the crown and let us forget about this madman!” Robert demanded and smiled at her in disbelief.

“No,” Lyanna replied icily. “The crown is mine, a gift freely given. I shall not surrender it. If you feel threatened by such a simple gift, my Lord, then mayhaps you are not as confident as you are trying to appear to the world.”

Robert’s reaction came promptly and with a vitriol Ned hadn’t expected. In the blink of a moment he had managed to pry the crown from Lyanna’s hand, but his sister was as quick as a squirrel and grabbed his arm.

“The crown is mine! You will not have it!” she snarled and fletched her teeth, but Robert was stronger and a heartbeat later the crown was torn to shreds and his sister had stumbled to the ground, her cloak and skirt scattered around her slender form.

“Lya!” Benjen exclaimed and was immediately at her side. “Are you well?”

Ned followed suit and hlped her back into a sitting position. She looked unharmed, but a pained expression crossed her face as she laid eyes on the torn crown.

“Serves you right, sister,” Brandon scoffed. “This should be a valuable lesson to you. Mayhaps next time you will think twice before you go around beguiling princes.”

“Brandon speaks true, Lyanna,” Robert added in a strangely serious tone. “You are mine and you have no business to speak to other men.”

Lyanna’s emotions were written all over her face, but then she grew very silent. For the blink of a moment, he saw his Lady Mother, who had always carried herself with the stillness of a winter’s lake.

“I understand,” she said, rose to her feet and slipped out of the tent.

Ned should have felt assured by Lyanna’s answer, but when Robert burned the crown he couldn’t help but to feel slightly ashamed of himself.

_I should have defended her._

…


	12. Rhaegar

**Rhaegar**

Rhaegar’s heart pounded wildly as he climbed up the whirling steps of the Widow’s Tower. It was one of the five major towers of Harrenhall and one of those usually not occupied by the inhabitants of the castle.  _They say Rhaena Targaryen’s ghost hounds this tower, your grace,_ Lord Whent had told him not long ago, but Rhaegar had never been scared by ruins and curses. Horrifying visions of the future had plagued him ever since he was a young boy roaming through the ruins of Summerhall. For him this place felt almost like home.

Sweeping his gaze over the large deserted hall he imagined what King Harren’s court must have been like. Before building of Harrenhall he had ruled these lands from a modest tower house at Fairmarket, but eventually he had craved for a grander seat. The tales say that it had taken forty years to complete the castle. Both the Riverlands and the Iron Islands had been drained to finance the building of the castle with thousands of captives dying in the quarries, chained to sledges or laboring on the towering walls.

Truly, it didn’t surprise Rhaegar that nobody had wept after the bloody tyrant and his sons had been burned to cinder by the Conqueror’s dragons.

Slowly, Rhaegar walked along the walls, touching the blackened stone. He imagined the heat of Balerion’s flames bending the towers and the stone to his will. He also imagined the cries of Harren and his sons burning to death. He had seen men burned to death by his father’s hand, but none of them had deserved such an end.

_Father’s rule must end_ , he knew and walked back to the arched windows on the opposing side of the hall. Rhaegar gasped slightly as he cast his eyes through the windows. Beneath him spread a sea of darkness and lights. It looked like a sea of stars.

_Father is my Harren. His rule must end, even if I must shed blood. It is the only way._

“Rhaegar,” a familiar voice disturbed his peace. “I mean…your grace.”

Rhaegar’s head snapped around, his eyes seeking Lyanna’s slender form.

His heartbeat increased like always when she was close, though he tried his best to keep his composure. He didn’t want to appear like a green boy who had never courted a woman, though in fact this was the first time he was courting a woman. Before his betrothal to Elia, had not particularly cared about the ladies at court, though it hadn’t escaped him that he had his fair share of admirers. For some time, when Lord Tywin was still in his father’s good graces, he had thought that he might wed Cersei Lannisters, but then Lord Tywin had overstepped his bounds by suggesting the match himself. Truly, it was no surprise that his father had agreed to the Dornish match. The official reason had been that his father had desired a bride, but Rhaegar had always believed that his father had done it to spite Lord Tywin.

_I should have gotten you a Lysean whore and be done with it_ , his father had told him in a fit of anger after first lying eyes on his daughter Rhaenys, who showed not even the hint of dragonblood.

Yet it was not a silver haired boy Rhaegar had been dreaming of in the last weeks, but a boy with a long solemn face and brown hair, not unlike the young girl in front of him.

Mayhaps it had been fated by the gods that he and Lyanna met here in Harrenhall.

“Please call me Rhaegar,” he whispered in a trembling voice and approached her. “There is no need for such formalities.

A ghost of a smile curled on her lips as she stepped closer, her face suddenly cast in a sheen of glimmering moonlight. The sight made him gasp in delight.

He felt the sudden urge to kiss her, to wrap his hand around her, to hold her close like he had done after finding out her secret.

Yet he didn’t dare to do it. He was suddenly afraid she might dissolve into thin air if he dared to touch her.

“Why did you call me here?” she asked hesitatingly and stopped right in front of him. Unlike him she didn’t seem afraid, though her trembling hands told him that she was nervous. “Why did you give me the crown?”

His heart sank when he heard her serious tone. Mayhaps they had gone too far…

“I apologize,” he replied and leaned forward to take her hand. For the blink of a moment, he thought she might brush it away, but she did no such thing. “I didn’t mean to humiliate you, but to honor your performance during the tilt.”

Her eyes grew impossible wide, her mouth opening and closing in silence.

“In truth, I didn’t expect to win, my Lady,” Rhaegar admitted, his hand roaming through the vest of his cloak. Smiling, he pulled out the ribbon she had gifted him as a favor and showed it to her. “Your token gave me luck.”

“Nonsense,” she replied finally, her free hand touching the silken garment. “You won the tourney because of your skill. I watched you ride. Luck had nothing to do with it.”

Then, she lifted her head to search his face.

“You may keep the token. It was a gift.”

Rhaegar couldn’t help but to chuckle and slipped the silken garment back into the pocket of his vest.

“What about you?” he asked in return and smiled. “Did you like the crown?”

“I did,” Lyanna confirmed softly, a strange expression washing over her face. “It is just…How did you know?”

Rhaegar was confused by her question.

“Pray tell me, what did I know, my Lady?”

“The flowers,” Lyanna said and blushed. “Winter roses…they are my favorites.”

“Ah,” Rhaegar said, embarrassment washing over. Should he lie to her or admit to his lack of knowledge? “Well, the truth is…I wasn’t aware of your preference for these flowers. As I told you before…I didn’t even expect to win.”

“So, your actions were a spur of the moment?” she asked curiously.

“Not a spur of the moment,” Rhaegar explained and brushed a loose strand of hair out of her face.

She didn’t move, her body growing rigid under his touch.

“What do you want from me?” she asked, straight to the point. He shouldn’t have expected anything different from her. “You kissed me and crowned me Queen of Love and Beauty. My brother Brandon certainly thinks you are trying to get me into bed.”

Rhaegar wasn’t surprised, but guilt clenched around his heart like a tight noose when he thought of the problems he had caused her.

“It is true…I do desire you, my Lady,” Rhaegar admitted like Elia had advised him.  _Most women prefer an honest confession over flowery words._ “This should have been evident by the fact that I kissed you numerous times.”

Surprisingly, Lady Lyanna started to smile and lifted her hand to touch his.

“I barely remember the kisses you mentioned,” Lyanna said, her voice laced with amusement. “Mayhaps we should try again to revive my memory?”

Rhaegar didn’t believe his ears, but he gladly fulfilled her wish. Rhaegar didn’t hesitate to take her hand and lifted it to his lips, kissing each knuckle with featherlight kisses. As she was still trembling beneath his touch, he slung his hand around her waist and pulled her closer.

Feeling her warmth, something long-forgotten stirred inside him. It had been moons that he had last lain with a woman. In truth, Elia had not been his first, but he had never felt the need to stray from her bed until now. Theirs had never been a passionate marriage, their lovemaking Elia’s lack of desire for him. That she loved women was something she had confessed to him much later and though he had been stunned, it hadn’t angered him. Thus, he had lived a life devoid of passion and desires, until now…

Lyanna smiled warmly as she lifted her hand and placed it on his cheek. He shuddered at her touch and closed his eyes.

Opening his eyes again, he realized that Lyanna was only a hair’s breadth away.

This time, he allowed her to do the first step. Her lips moved over his, opening his mouth, his nerves suddenly alight with fire. He couldn’t help but to tremble, his grip tightening around her waist as the flames inside him grew.

When he noticed that his manhood was stirring to life, he broke from her and backed away.

“What happened?” she asked suddenly, her eyes dream-like as if she had poured down a whole cup of summerwine. “Isn’t that what you wanted?”

He shook his head, swallowing heard and trying to calm himself.

“I want you,” Rhaegar assured her quickly, his voice strained and distant to his ears. “But not like this…I don’t want you to be my mistress. What I desire is to wed you.”

Lady Lyanna stared at him in silence, her eyes impossible wide.

“Is that even possible?” Lyanna asked in disbelief. “You are wed.”

“Not under the Faith of the Seven, so much is true,” Rhaegar confirmed and took her hand, placing it on his chest. “But your people follow the Old Gods, don’t they?”

Understanding showed on her face as her mouth opened.

“They do,” She confirmed with a hesitant smile. “But what about your wife? I know that your people sometimes took more than one wife…,” she trailed off.

“Elia gave her approval,” Rhaegar assured her and bridged the distance to clutch her face between his hands. “But let me be clear about this. There will be those who will call you a whore and our potential children bastards, but I promise you that I will defend your honor against anyone who dares to say something different.”

Lyanna stared at him for a long time, her eyes narrowed as she searched his face.

“Do you love me?” she asked, disarming him with another blunt question.

_Do I love her_ , he wondered not for the first time. He desired her and wanted to keep her close to his heart. He also couldn’t bear the thought of losing her to his cousin. Most of all he wanted to see her happy.

If that was what love felt like it must be true.

“I do,” Rhaegar confirmed. “What about you? Do you love me? Will you marry me?”

His question seemed to startle her.

“I…,” she stuttered, her mouth opening and closing as her hand pulled on his shoulder. “I think I do. I do not have much experience in such matters. However, I do know that I want to be with you. Aye, I will marry you.”

Rhaegar couldn’t believe his luck, his heart nearly bursting with happiness, though he was surprised by her quick answer.

“Truly?” he asked and leaned closer, his lips gently brushing over hers.

“Truly,” Lyanna confirmed with a smile and brushed a lock of silver hair back over his shoulder.

Rhaegar laughed and pressed her body against stone wall.

One step and she was back in his arms and he was kissing her with old favor, her arms slung tightly around his shoulders. There was nothing chaste about this kiss, their lips moving faster and her small form pressed against his chest. She must have felt his hard cock pressed against her belly, because she pulled away, her lips swollen and her cheeks deeply flushed.

“I am deeply sorry…,” Rhaegar began, but Lyanna’s smile silenced him.

“When will it be done?” she asked, her voice laced with curiosity. “On the morrow is the last day of the tourney.”

It took Rhaegar a moment before he realized that she was talking about the wedding.

“Not here,” Rhaegar tried to explain, but stumbled over his words. “We will be wed after the tourney. We shall have a weirwood tree and witnesses. It will be done properly, I promise.”

Her brows travelled to the top of her head.

“How?” she asked and Rhaegar gathered her hands in his.

“First I must speak to your brothers,” he explained and lifted them back to his lips. “Do you trust me, my love?”

She nodded her head.

“I do trust you, my love.”

…


	13. Lyanna

**Lyanna**

Lyanna watched the curling flames of orange, yellow and red. Sometimes she saw dragons and at other times she saw wolves. Once she saw a wolf and a stag at each other’s throat, but that might have only been her heart revealing its contempt to her cautious mind.

These two parts of her had always been at odds. Her heart yearned to be free, to leave the chains her father was trying to impose on her behind her, but her silly mind was holding her back. It was this part of her that had made her endure Robert Baratheon’s attentions and it was this part of her that had made her stay true to the betrothal, but now everything changed.

Again and again her thoughts were straying back to her last meeting with Rhaegar and the kisses they had shared. Again she took in the flames, curling and twisting like the wings of a dragon and devouring the wood.

 _Get a hold of yourself_ , she reminded herself and sipped on her cup of mulled wine. The last day of the tourney had been a grand affair or so she had heard, because Brandon had forbidden her to attend the feast. Instead she had spent the evening packing her belongings and waiting for Rhaegar’s appearance.

 _He will come_ , she reminded herself for the hundred time that day and glanced over her shoulder at the entrance of the pavilion.  _He promised me. He promised to wed me._

 _He promised to wed me_ , she repeated inwardly, the words sweet on her tongue. Unlike her betrothed Rhaegar hadn’t gone to her father to buy her like a goat. No, Prince Rhaegar had bared his heart to her and had given her a choice to decide her own future.

And Lyanna had decided her own future, a future without Robert Baratheon, a future far away from the Stormlands, a future free from her father’s ambitious and Ned’s bloody honor.

No, she had had her fill of experiences with Robert to finally understand that she could never be his lady. Robert Baratheon didn’t love her nor did he respect her.

To him she was like a pretty flower. Once he had plucked her she would be worth no more than his whores. Mayhaps that was a bit too harsh. His Lords would be so kind to call her Lady of the Stormlands and after she had given him a son they might even come to see her worth as a person, but that was not the kind of life Lyanna desired. She had always wanted children and a family, but when she closed her eyes she didn’t see Robert’s children.

All she saw was Rhaegar, with his sad and sweet smiles. Sometimes she also saw a young girl with silver hair and grey eyes and at other times she saw a boy with a Stark face and dark eyes like her beloved. No, it were not Robert Baratheon’s children she wanted to bear, but Rhaegar’s.

 _You would only be his second wife_ , the reasonable part of her mind nagged.  _A wife in the eyes of the prince and a whore to others._

Not that it mattered. Robert and Brandon were already acting as if she was a whore, because Rhaegar had gifted her a crown of flowers.

 _Fools_ , she muttered to herself and poured the last bits of mulled wine down her throat. If she was a whore she would have given her maidenhead to Rhaegar. Instead they had stolen kisses and had watched the stars. Rhaegar had never touched or kissed her without her permission. No, he had shown her the respect she deserved while Robert had burned her crown in a childish fit of rage.

 _I mean nothing to him beyond empty words_ , she knew and placed the cup on the nearby table, her brothers’ and guests’ hushed voices ringing in her ears.

She had tried her best to ignore them, to blend them out. She hadn’t even wanted to leave her tent, but Brandon had ordered her to sit with them, like a proper family.

Lyanna had scoffed at that. They hadn’t been a proper family since their Lady Mother had died from the sweating sickness. At times, Lyanna scarcely recalled her face, though her father had told her more than once that she showed great resemblance to her mother. And while Lyanna didn’t know if that was true, she sometimes sat down before the looking glass to search her own face for a memory of her mother.

 _Mother would have understood me_ , she was sure and shifted her attention to her brothers and guests.  _She would have talked father out of this match._

Brandon was of course seated at the head of the table, playing the high lord in their father’s absence. He had always been proud, that brother of hers, but only after his return from Barrowtown had his behavior started to grate on her nerves.

What she hated the most was Brandon’s hypocrisy, especially because he tried to council her own her virtue while dishonoring highborn maidens left and right.

 _Mother would have washed his ears_ , she thought as her gaze darted to Ned. Unlike Brandon, who was laughing and drinking, Ned had remained silent throughout the evening. To Lyanna he looked almost distraught, his light grey eyes fixed on the full cup of wine placed in front of him. Occasionally, Lyanna noticed him staring at her and twice he had tried to invite her to sit with them. Lyanna had given him the cold shoulder, the rightful punishment for his treachery. He had stood there like a star-struck maid when Robert had torn the crown from her hands. It was only right that Ned loved him, but Lyanna had expected more of her brother. She would give her life to defend him against her enemies, but he had not even granted her this simple decency.

Only Benjen and Lord Reed had tried to comfort her and yet both where seated at her brother’s table and were sharing his laughter and wine.

Especially, Benjen seemed infatuated with one of Brandon’s hunting tales. Lyanna couldn’t help but to roll her eyes when Brandon recounted the tale. Yet that was not the worst of it, because a moment later Robert regaled them with another hunting tale, namely about a boar he had supposedly killed by grabbing its neck and breaking it with its bare hands.

As always, Robert had roared with laughter while their guests Lord Howland Reed, Lord Jon Arryn and Lord Elbert Arryn were forced to silence.

Not that they seemed bothered by Robert’s antics. Elbert Arryn was a shy man, who had hardly spoken more than a few sentences, though he chuckled lightly whenever Robert opened his mouth and toasted whenever Brandon made a grand speech. Jon Arryn‘s smiles were hesitant, though Lyanna couldn’t help but to notice how infatuated Jon Arryn was with Robert. Whenever Robert spoke, a mild smile was softening his weather-worn features. In these moments he looked like a proud father watching his son.

Never once, Lyanna had felt like an outsider in her family, but now she did. All of them saw something Robert she couldn’t see…

“Lyanna,” Brandon’s slurred voice rang in her ears. ”Are you finally done brooding? Mayhaps you would like to grace us with your presence, sister?”

Lyanna should have remained silent, but seeing the smile on Brandon’s lips made her forget about her manners.

“I only crave peace and quiet,” she replied icily. “But it is hard to find peace among your presence, dear brother. Your laughter is too loud and gives me headaches.”

Brandon’s smile died and a disgruntled expression took hold of his face. It was a small triumph, but a triumph, nonetheless.

“Stop being such a child, Lyanna,” Brandon snorted and waved his hands at their guests. “To weep over a pretty crown isn’t your way or mayhaps I misjudged you, sister. You are not better than these weeping maids that sigh whenever the silver prince passes them by,” he added and sighed deeply, imitating a forlorn maid.

“Oh, my Prince. What a pretty crown you gave me and how pretty…,” he tittered, his voice soon drowned out by the amused laughter of his audience.

Lyanna was about to open her mouth when a rustling sound aroused her attention and no other than Martyn Cassel slipped inside to disturb their pleasant get-together.

Martyn Cassle was a stern man and not easily moved, but now he seemed almost impatient to get to the point.

“My Lord, we have a visitor,” he informed Brandon promptly and dipped his head.

 _Could it be_ , Lyanna thought, her heart suddenly filled with hope.  _It must be Rhaegar._

Her brother Brandon seemed confused, his dark grey eyes narrowed as he angled his head to look at Martyn Cassle.

“A visitor?” Brandon asked in displeasure and rose to his feet. “Who would dare to disturb us at such a late hour? Whoever it is, tell him to get lost.”

This earned her brother another round of laughter, but Martyn Cassle didn’t seem to share their mirth. He looked uncomfortable and dipped his head as if to apologize for his words before they had even left his lips

“My Lord,” Martyn Cassle said and dipped his head ever lower. “It would be most unwise to send this visitor away…It is Prince Rhaegar who is asking for your attention, my Lord.”

Lyanna didn’t know how it had happened, but in the blink of a moment the laughter had died down and an eerie silence had settled over them.

Brandon’s gaze darkened and Robert looked as if he wanted to grab his warhammer and throw himself into a fruitless battle to defend her honor.

The others looked just as uncomfortable.

Elbert Arryn was eying the cup in his hand, Benjen’s gaze was flickered between Ned and Howland Reed, as if they would be able to give them the reason for the Prince’s presence and Lord Arryn was eying Robert with a wary expression.

“Tell him to leave. Tell him that we want to enjoy our peace and quiet,” Brandon told Martyn Cassle in a firm tone.

“Exactly!” Robert agreed enthusiastically and slammed his cup on the table. “We have no need for the Princeling!”

And while Robert had already been deep into his cups, even Jon Arryn appeared slightly bothered by his wards’ heated words.

“Robert…this is the Crown Prince you are talking about…,” Lord Arryn began, but Robert didn’t hesitate to silence him.

“Fuck him I say!” Robert grumbled angrily and by now even Ned had been moved out of his stupor. “I shall fight him if he dares to set a foot in this tent! That ought to teach him to throw around with flower crowns!”

“Robert…Jon is right,” Ned said in a calming voice and pulled on his arm. “I think it is best if we leave…,” her brother continued, but Robert brushed Ned’s hand away and looked at Jon Arryn .

“Oh, stop cuddling me. I am thankful for your concern, but I am not afraid of a minstrel…” he declared proudly and staggered through the room, nearly throwing over a bottle as he went, before collapsing on the ground, right before Martyn Cassle’s feet.

Lyanna felt the urge to laugh, but her attention was soon directed elsewhere, because the Princeling had dared to enter the wolf’s lair without receiving her Brandon’s permission.

Lyanna averted her gaze, though she wanted to do nothing more than to look Rhaegar.

She wanted to smile at him, to give him her strength, but she feared to betray her true thoughts.

“Lord Brandon,” Rhaegar’s iron voice pierced the silence that had settled over them. “I am aware that the hour is rather late, but there is an important matter that needs to be addressed before we depart on the morrow…a matter of utmost importance…,” he trailed off.

“A matter we _both_  want to speak about with you, Lord Stark,” a softer and womanly voice added.

Lyanna had seen Princess Elia only briefly, but when she lifted her head to look at her she found that her voice suited her appearance.

Princess Elia was a tall and graceful woman, her swollen belly hidden behind a flowing orange dress and fastened with a golden clasp wrought in the form of a sun disk.

There was something fragile about her appearance, but her crimson smile could only be described as disarming.

Even Brandon forgot his sharp tongue when the Princess’s smile fell upon him.

“Very well,” Brandon agreed politely and angled his head to take in Prince Rhaegar. “What can I do for you, your grace?”

By then Robert had also regained his composure and was brushing the dirt from his doublet.

“A good question,” Robert added in a hostile tone and moved towards Rhaegar. Robert was half a head taller than the Prince, but Rhaegar didn’t even blink, his dark gaze fixed on her betrothed. “What brings you here, your grace?”

“Robert…” Lord Jon Arryn whispered, but Robert ignored him and came to stand right in front of Prince Rhaegar. “Did you come to apologize, cousin?”

“Be careful who you speak to, Lord Baratheon…,” Ser Arthur Dayne, who had just entered the tent, warned, but was silenced by Rhaegar’s silent nod.

“Apologize?” Rhaegar asked and wrinkled his brows in confusion. “May I ask for what, dear cousin?”

“Robert is my sister’s betrothed,” Brandon added coldly and patted Robert’s shoulder, before Robert could open his mouth again. Brandon at least seemed to realize that he was not speaking to one of his drinking companions. “Have you not considered how your actions could be perceived, your grace?”

“I fear you are mistaken, my Lord,” Princess Elia added softly and folded her hands in front of her middle. The smile she gave Brandon and Robert could have melted heaps of snow. “What my husband did was not meant to insult Lord Baratheon. It was meant to honor Lady Lyanna’s courage. Nothing more and nothing less.”

“To honor her?” Robert asked if someone had kicked him in the balls.

“What the…,” Robert began, but realized then that he was speaking to the Princess of Dorne. “I mean…What did Lyanna do that your husband felt the need to honor her in such a manner?”

Princess Elia graced Robert with soft smile and patted Rhaegar’s shoulder.

“I paid witness to Lady Lyanna’s bravery in face of a great injustice,” Rhaegar explained and jerked his head Lord Reed, who was seated between Ned and Benjen. “She was defending Lord Reed against the brutally of three squires. A Lady fighting off three squires with a practice blade is a rare sight, my Lord Baratheon. You should be proud of her.”

Robert stared at Rhaegar in utter disbelief and Lyanna wished that she had told her brothers the truth about the encounter with the squires. Not wishing to upset Ned she had told them that it was Benjen who had fought them off while she was tending to Lord Reed’s wounds.

Thus, it was no surprise to her that Robert denied Rhaegar’s story.

“Lyanna told us a different story,” Robert began, but Lyanna grabbed his arm to stop him from speaking further.

“I lied,” she explained softly, seeking Brandon’s gaze. “I thought it would anger you if I told you the truth. I meant well.”

“Lady Lyanna speaks true,” Lord Reed said in a heavy voice and gave Robert a calming smile. “She did fight them…quite admirably if I may say so.”

“I see,” Robert replied in displeasure and grabbed her arm. “Well, may Lady has a temper. I suppose it shouldn’t have surprised me that she would decide step in. Still, I would have preferred if she told me the truth. We are after all betrothed.”

Lyanna gritted her teeth as his grip tightened on her shoulder, her gaze seeking Rhaegar’s across the room.

The tension in his body was palpable, but his face remained unreadable as ever.

“We are aware of your betrothal, cousin,” Rhaegar replied coldly and squeezed Princess Elia’s hand. “But as my wife rightly said…The crowning of your betrothed was meant to show  _our_  admiration for her courage. Nothing more and nothing less.”

“Indeed,” Princess Elia added her voice and cocked her head to smile at Lyanna. “I have received the crown numerous times. I thought it only right that a lovely young maid like Lady Lyanna would receive the crown after demonstrating such fearlessness, though in truth that is not the only reason I came here. I wanted to ask Lady Lyanna if she might consider joining my ladies?”

“Lyanna has no time for that,” Robert replied for her, before she was even able to open her mouth. “She will soon be Lady of the Stormlands.”

“I wasn’t aware that the wedding would be so soon,” Rhaegar said and searched Brandon’s face, his voice laced with displeasure.

“That’s my father’s decision,” Brandon replied mistrustfully. “It could be next moon or in two years. Well, considering what happened it might be sooner than anticipated, your grace.”

“Your heard Lord Stark. Lyanna has no time to serve as your Lady,” Robert added, his gaze piercing into Rhaegar’s, though it was Princess Elia who had made the offer.

Lyanna had heard enough and turned to look at Princess Elia.

“It would be my honor to serve you, your grace,” she declared loudly and tried her best to drop a proper curtsy. “I agree to your offer.”

Robert pulled her backwards, forcing her to look at him.

“We will be wed!” he insisted angrily. “You have no right…,” he was about to continue, but Jon Arryn stepped forward and proved the voice of reason.

“I understand your concerns, Robert,” the elderly man stated matter-of-factly and touched his shoulder. “But I see no reason why Lady Lyanna shouldn’t serve as Princess Elia’s lady. It is an honor to serve the future Queen and as future Lady of the Stormlands it would be good for her to get acquainted with the south. Princess Elia could be of great help to her.”

“Lord Arryn speaks true,” Ned added his voice and rubbed his neck in obvious discomfort. “My father would approve of such an arrangement.”

Robert stared at Ned in disbelief.

“Ned,” Robert began and was about to voice his displeasure, but Brandon grabbed his arm to silence him.

“Very well,” Brandon agreed and lifted his head to look at Princess Elia.

“We shall think about it, your grace. I will send my sister to you…,” he began, but Princess Elia interrupted him, albeit politely.

“If would be more convenient for me if Lady Lyanna would join me now,” the Princess replied in an angelic tone and smiled openly at Brandon. “We will of course ask for Lord Rickard’s permission, but as your brother rightly said…I see no reason why he should refuse. Lady Lyanna gave her approval.”

A grimace of anger washed over Brandon’s face, but there was little he could. What Ned had said was true. Refusing the request of the Crown Prince and Princess was not something their Lord Father would approve of.

“I understand, your grace,” Brandon replied through gritted teeth and lowered his head as his narrowed grey eyes darted back to Lyanna.  _Be careful what you are doing_ , they seemed to warn her.  _I am watching you_. “My sister shall join you on the morrow.”

Lyanna trembled as she met his gaze.  _He knows something is up._

“I thank you, brother,” she replied and shifted her attention back to Princess Elia. “And you, your grace.”

Princess Elia returned her gesture, a crimson smile curling on her lips.

“On the contrary. It is my pleasure to welcome you among my ladies, Lady Lyanna.”

…


	14. Arthur

**Arthur**

“Do I understand you correctly, your grace,” Jon Connington asked and tightened his grip on his silver goblet, engraved with griffons. “You intend to wed Lady Lyanna Stark?”

Rhaegar nodded his head and smiled mildly, before bringing his cup to his lips. He drank deeply, allowing the news to sink in, though Arthur was surprised by Jon Connington’s lackluster reaction. More than once, he had urged Rhaegar to take a mistress, but the Prince had always refused this idea.

Arthur himself didn’t know what to make of his friend’s sudden infatuation with Lady Lyanna Stark. She was pretty and spirited, so much was true, but she was also half a child and betrothed. At first, Arthur had thought Rhaegar was simply amused by the girl’s blunt character or perhaps interested in her because she was Rickard Stark’s daughter, but by now Arthur had realized that this was more than just another one of Rhaegar’s plots.

And while Rhaegar had justified his decision in front of his confidants with political reasons, Ser Arthur was sure that his friends reasoning went far deeper…

Rhaegar had not confirmed Arthur’s suspicions, but ever since he had met the Prince at the tender age of eight, he had been dabbling in ancient tales and prophecy.

In truth, Arthur had not been impressed with the future heir of the Seven Kingdoms when he first laid eyes on him. Back then, Arthur had freshly arrived at court to begin his training as Prince Lewyn Martell’s squire and had been very eager to prove himself among the other boys.

Surprisingly, the Prince hadn’t spent a single hour on the practice yard. Instead he had buried himself in heaps of books as if his life had depended on it.

Naturally, the other boys had found that strange and so had Arthur.

The heir to the Seven Kingdoms ought to be a warrior and not a pale-faced boy that acted more like a Maester than a proper Prince.

Perhaps for a year or two, Arthur’s opinion of the Prince had remained steadfast, the day everything had changed.

Arthur didn’t know how old he had been or what time of the year it had been, but he still recalled how Prince Rhaegar had suddenly appeared on the practice yard, informing Ser William Darry that he required shield and armor.

Surprised, by the Prince’s demand Ser William had asked him why he needed armor and shield.

 _It seems fate has decided for me to be a warrior_ , the Prince had declared without a hint of pride in his voice.

From that day on the Prince had trained with them every day, though his first rounds on the practice yard were less impressive and the other boys took great pleasure in playing their games with the clumsy Princeling.

Others might have coddled the heir to the Seven Kingdoms, but Ser William Darry was no such man. The other boys had free reign in challenging the Prince and most of them had done so with great enthusiasm. Arthur could not count the bruises Prince Rhaegar had received during these lessons, but never once had he heard a complaint spill from his friend’s lips.

Instead the Prince had continued to train single-mindedly and at times almost obsessively so. Day and night, the Prince had spent on the practice yard and as time had passed Arthur had become his sparring companion.

In the beginning, they hadn’t even spoken much while they were hacking at one another, but they had soon found a comfortable routine and eventually they started to talk. Arthur would talk about his home while the Prince entertained him with countless stories.

That was the first thing Arthur had learned about his friend Rhaegar. There was not a single tale Rhaegar didn’t know.

From Essos to the North, Rhaegar had recounted hundreds of them to Arthur while they were exchanging blows, their gasps filling the air. Afterwards, they had always climbed atop the walls of the Red Keep, watching the city below.

It had been in one of these starlit nights that Prince Rhaegar had first bared his heart to Arthur.

_“The truth is…I don’t like fighting, Arthur,” Rhaegar said, his arms crossed behind his head and his dark gaze fixed on the distant sky. “But I have to fight whether I like it or not. We will all have to fight for our survival.”_

_“You have the Kingsguard to fight for you, my Prince,” Arthur countered. “You are the Crown Prince.”_

_Prince Rhaegar chuckled, a seldom smile curling on his lips as he angled his head to look at Arthur._

_“I am the Crown Prince,” Rhaegar confirmed in a sorrowful tone and shrugged his shoulders. “But that doesn’t change what I must become.”_

_“Must become?” Arthur asked in confusion. “One day you shall be our King.”_

_“I shall be King,” Prince Rhaegar confirmed sadly, his gaze darting back to the stars. “But that is not what I must become. What I must become is the Prince that was Promised or the Tragedy of Summerhall was for naught.”_

It had been the first time that Arthur had heard about this _Prince that was Promised_ , but only years later he had realized how ingrained this prophecy was in the Prince’s heart.

It was this prophecy that had caused King Jaehaerys’ to force his children Queen Rhaella and King Aerys into an unhappy marriage. It had been this prophecy that had forced Rhaegar to torture himself on the practice yard and for a time Arthur had believed that it was this prophecy that had driven Rhaegar towards Lyanna Stark, but now he knew better.

Rhaegar’s interest in the girl went far deeper than prophecy. No, his friend had fallen in love.

“You heard right, Jon,” Rhaegar confirmed and leaned back into his cushioned chair, his silver hair spilling over his shoulders. “I intend to wed Lady Lyanna and I shall have need of your help, friends. I want you to attend this wedding as my witnesses.”

The Prince had not only addressed Jon Connington, but also Ser Richard Lonmouth and Ser Myles Mooton.

“Was that ever a question, your grace?” Ser Richard asked suddenly and rubbed his hands in delight. He looked like a young boy celebrating his nameday. “After all this effort I put into helping you to court Lady Lyanna it would be a shame if I didn’t attend your wedding.

Then, Ser Richard turned to his friend Myles Mooton and patted his shoulder.

“What do you say, Myles? You have been so silent.”

Myles Mooton took a sip from his cup and graced Prince Rhaegar with an assuring smile.

“You shall have my ears and eyes, your grace.”

“And mine too,” Jon Connington added eagerly, obviously not wanting to lack behind. At first glance, most people thought him a lickspittle, but he was never hesitant to voice his concerns. “But how do you intend to convince a Septon to perform such a ceremony, your grace?”

Rhaegar chuckled and eyed the biscuits placed before him. It seemed he enjoyed teasing Jon a bit too much. “The answer is quite simple, Jon. There will be no need for a Septon. I shall wed Lady Lyanna under the Faith of the Old Gods at the Island of Faces.”

Arthur watched in amusement how Jon Connington’s eyebrows rose to the top of his head.

“Forgive me, your grace,” Jon said and dipped his head ever slightly. “May I ask why it has to be _there_?”

“It has to be _there_ , because I promised my beloved a proper weirwood tree as it is custom among her people,” Prince Rhaegar explained. “And the Island of Faces is the only place below the Neck where we are going to find such a weirwood tree, unless you wish to travel all the way to the North.”

The mention of travelling North cast a mortified look on Jon Connington’s face.

“Of course not, your grace,” Lord Connington agreed and fumbled with the collar of his tunic. “It would be far too dangerous to venture into enemy territory.”

“The North is my beloved’s home,” Rhaegar corrected him, his voice laced with displeasure. “Once we are wed, they shall be our friends. Please refrain from calling them enemies.”

“Of course,” Lord Connington confirmed and smiled awkwardly. “But we need to tread carefully. We do not know Lord Rickard’s true intentions.”

“I am aware of this fact, Jon,” Rhaegar said, his smile fading. “But given our current situation it is our best chance to move forward. By marrying Lady Lyanna Stark any possible alliance between the Stormlands and the North would be out of the question.”

“Indeed,” Myles Mooton agreed hesitatingly. Most people called him unapproachable, but Arthur knew him as a cautious and intelligent man. “But I am sure Robert Baratheon is not going to like this. What if he calls for war?”

“He and his friends are already planning to depose our King,” Lord Jon Connington snorted. “That said…I do not think his lords would be prepared to go to war over a broken betrothal. Most men do not wish to spill their blood for their lord’s pride. He would need a more drastic reason.”

“I can confirm that,” Ser Richard added. “Besides, common opinion among the Stormlords is that Lord Robert ought to wed a Lady from the Stormlands and not a woman from the North, who doesn’t even follow their gods.”

“Very true,” Jon Connington agreed and smiled at Rhaegar. “I suppose it is a good thing that Lady Lyanna is a follower of the Old Gods.”

“I suppose so,” Rhaegar confirmed, his dark eyes flickering back to Ser Richard. “Well, knowing Robert Baratheon he will certainly not refrain from voicing his displeasure on the matter. Marrying Lady Lyanna will certainly make him our enemy, but the more important question is…Who of the Stormlords would be prepared to stand against him?”

“Well, there is me,” Ser Richard Lonmouth replied and pointed at himself. “And the Lords Grandison, Cafferen and Fell will surely follow. Lord Fell will probably the first one to rise. They say Robert Baratheon took his daughter’s maidenhead.”

“What a surprise,” Jon Connington added gingerly. “Only a day ago I came upon Lord Baratheon rutting a kitchen maid. Mayhaps Lord Baratheon will do us a favor and deflower more of his lords’ daughters.”.

“Yet It think it is not only Lord Baratheon we should be worried about, your grace,” Myles added. ”Lord Hoster Tully and Lord Jon Arryn are the true danger. Especially, Lord Hoster is a man as smart as he is ambitious. They say that he intended to wed his second daughter to Lord Tywin’s heir, before his plans were thwarted by Ser Jaime’s admission to the Kingsguard. Mayhaps Lord Hoster intended to include Tywin in their plots. It is well known that Lord Tywin and the King hold a grudge against each other.”

“Possible,” Rhaegar agreed, a wry smile twisting on his lips. “In hindsight the King might have done us a favor.”

“There is still Cersei Lannister,” Myles countered. “Mayhaps Lord Hoster might offer his son instead.”

“That will never happen,” Jon Connington said and chuckled. “The proud lion would never wed his only daughter to Hoster Tully’s heir. We all know what he really wants…,” he continued, but Rhaegar cut him off.

“I do not wish to talk about Lady Cersei,” Rhaegar said with a frown and brought his cup to his lips as if to brush away the embarrassing memories that were probably whirling through his mind. More than once, Lady Cersei had tried to beguile Prince Rhaegar.

“Oh, don’t be such a spoilsport. Please tell us again how Lady Cersei came upon you in the library with her beautiful teats dangling right in front of your nose,” Ser Richard cut in and grinned like a fool. “That must have been a glorious sight to behold.”

“I rather not, my friend. The less is said about Cersei Lannister’s bosom the better,” Rhaegar replied and took a gulp from his cup as if the wine could help to banish away these embarrassing thoughts from his mind. Arthur and Ser Oswell Whent had been there when this most embarrassing incident had taken place, though Prince Rhaegar had handled it as delicately as ever.

The Prince had not lost a single word about Lady Cersei’s indecent state and had even held a polite conversation with her, before walking her back to her chambers while stoically staring at the ceiling.

Even the ever glum Ser Oswell Whent had been unable to cast aside his gaze from Lady Cersei’s well-formed bosom.

“And why is that, my friend?” Ser Richard asked teasingly as he leaned forward, his brown hair falling over his shoulders. “Might it be true what they say about Lord Tywin’s daughter? Does she have teats of gold?”

Rhaegar nearly choked on his wine and Lord Connington rolled his eyes.

“Sometimes, I must wonder about you, Ser Richard. Are you a child or a man grown?

Ser Richard grinned mischievously and imitated Lord Connington’s gesture.

“And sometimes I wonder if you, my Lord Connington, plopped out of your mother’s womb with a stick lodged in your arse.”

“That is quite enough, my friends,” Rhaegar chided them, though it was clear that he was enjoying their banter. “We came here to speak about a most serious topic, not to discuss Cersei Lannister’s bosom.”

Then, the Prince shifted his attention back to Ser Myles.

“What about the Riverlands? Do you think those loyal to House Targaryen would choose me over my father?”

“Unquestionable, your grace,” Myles confirmed. “Though I cannot say what the lords loyal to Lord Tully will choose to do. I personally think will depend on Lord Rickard Stark’s decision. His son Brandon is after all pledged to wed Lady Catelyn Tully.”

“Even more reason for his grace to wed Lady Lyanna,” Ser Richard added cheerfully and crossed his arms behind his head. “Which should lead us to our next topic…the Vale. Sadly, Lord Jon Arryn seems more taken with Robert Baratheon than his own heir, Lord Elbert Arryn, which should be good for us.”

“How so?” the Prince asked curiously.

“Simple,” Ser Richard said and gave the Prince a knowing smile. “Lord Elbert Arryn seems not very pleased that Jon Arryn’s favors Lord Baratheon over his own blood. I do not know if is true, but the rumors say that Elbert Arryn had also hoped to wed Lady Lyanna and that he brought these intentions to Jon Arryn’s attention only to be rebuffed in favor of Lord Baratheon.”

“But how is that good for us?” Myles asked and wrinkled his brows in confusion. “I doubt another one of Lady Lyanna’s jilted admirers is going to help us.”

“Elbert Arryn holds no affections for Lady Lyanna,” Ser Richard countered quickly. “The reason he wanted to wed her was to gain the confidence of Lord Eddard Stark, Lady Lyanna’s brother. Lord Jon Arryn is said to be very fond of him as well.”

“Well, then I am glad he was rebuffed,” Rhaegar remarked icily. “But who could we ask to nudge Lord Elbert in the right direction and more importantly, what could we promise him in return for his help? Lady Lyanna is out of the question.”

“Perhaps a position at your council,” Myles Mooton offered.

“A good idea,” Rhaegar agreed. “I heard Lord Elbert Arryn is a quiet, but capable man. I am sure we will find something that suits his abilities. I shall hand this delicate task to Lord Grafton.”

“Marq won’t disappoint you, your grace. I am sure of it,” Ser Richard agreed approvingly and tapped his fingers on the table. “Which leaves us with Dorne. You told us that Princess Elia gave her approval, but who can say that her brother Prince Doran will do the same?. Who says that we can trust them to send us the men we need.”

“Elia thinks she can convince her brother,” Rhaegar confirmed, but his grave expression told Arthur that he had his doubts. “I trust Elia.”

“I hope you will not be disappointed again, your grace,” Jon Connington added thoughtlessly and promptly received a sharp rebuke.

“I thank that is enough, Jon,” Prince Rhaegar warned and Jon dipped his head in an apologetical gesture. “Elia has not disappointed me.”

“Forgive me, your grace, but I am most concerned for the continuation of your line…,” Jon continued, but when the Prince had slammed his hand on the table even Lord Connington was silenced.

“I heard your concerns, Jon!” the Prince

repeated in an iron tone. “Elia has not disappointed me. I have healthy daughter, have I not?”

“Indeed,” Lord Connington confirmed and swallowed hard, obviously realizing that he overstepped his bounds. “Princess Rhaenys is a bright girl.”

“Good to hear that you agree, Jon,” Rhaegar replied and emptied his cup.

“And if we are lucky I will soon have a son,” the Prince added quietly, though whether he was speaking about Princess Elia’s babe or another child was not quite clear to Arthur.

Later, after the others had long departed and the candles had burned low, Arthur found his friend seated over an old tome, his hair falling around his face like a white shroud.

“Arthur,” he said suddenly and his had snapped around to look at Arthur. “Do you think me mad for doing this?”

As so often, Arthur didn’t know what to make of the Prince’s words.

“What do you mean, your grace?”

Rhaegar sighed, put the scroll away and searched his face.

“I haven’t told Lyanna about the prophecy…” he trailed off.

“Do you love her?” Arthur asked instead.

Rhaegar stared at him in silence, obviously stunned with his forward question.

Then, he nodded his head.

“I do.”

Arthur had thought so much, but was relieved to hear it. The girl deserved better than to be used like a toy for political machinations and to fulfil some prophecy.

“And does she love you?”

Rhaegar nodded his head, a loving smile curling on his lips.

“Aye, she does.”

Arthur leaned down to pat Rhaegar’s shoulder and returned his smile.

“Then, you have nothing to fear, my friend.”

…


	15. Lyanna

**Lyanna**

Lyanna swept her gaze over the sea of weirwood trees. She had seen the Island of Faces only at night, but seeing it now in all its beauty and cast in glimmering sunlight she couldn’t help but to think that this must be the most beautiful place in the world.

“It is beautiful here, isn’t it?” Rhaegar asked.

Lyanna had barely heard him, the whispering of the leaves louder than his subdued voice.

“This place much bigger than the godswood in Winterfell…it is truly beautiful,” Lyanna replied, keeping her voice intentionally low as she led her horse closer to Rhaegar’s. If they had been alone she would have spoken freely, but as promised Rhaegar had brought his confidants to pay witness to their wedding before the old gods, among them Ser Arthur Dayne, the Sword of the Morning, a certain Lord Jon Connington, Ser Richard Lonmouth and Ser Myles Mooton.

Ser Richard Lonmouth and Ser Arthur Dayne she had met before, but this Jon Connington was a stranger to her as was Myles Mooton, though the latter seemed far more sympathetic towards her. She didn’t know why, but this Jon Connington was constantly scrutinizing her as if he was a groomsman inspecting the worthiness of a mare. At other times, especially whenever she was being affectionate with Rhaegar, he was often grimacing as if the very sight of them caused him pain.

 _Why did Rhaegar bring him_ , she mused.  _He doesn’t seem to like me_.

Rhaegar smiled at her and halted his horse in the shade of crooked weirwood tree. Not only was this tree two times the size of the other trees, but its trunk was as thick as a boat and his crown loomed over three smaller trees like a protective shield lifted against a sea of arrows.

“We are here, my lady,” Rhaegar announced in a mix of cheerfulness and determination. It was a strange sight to behold, because he rarely showed this side of him. “Do you think this tree is appropriate for the ceremony?”

“More than appropriate,” Lyanna confirmed without hesitation and swept her gaze over the massive white trunk and the face carved in the middle of it. Even this face was massive, nearly as big as a grown man. The sight filled Lyanna with excitement. Its gaping mouth and its bleeding eyes reminded her of a monster from one of Old Nan’s wildest tales. “It’s perfect.”

Rhaegar’s smiled brilliantly and dismounted, before shifting his attention to his companions. Myles Mooton, Jon Connington and Ser Arthur Dayne were not men of many words, but Ser Richard’s sudden solemnity surprised her. Gone were his sharp smiles and his japes. He was almost as solemn and quiet as Ned.

 _Was he just playing a role to fool Robert_ , she wondered not for the first time and followed Rhaegar’s example, her dirty boots landing in the swaying grass. The ground was soft and gave away to her boots, a result of the rains from last night.

Not that Lyanna cared. She loved the rain and the smell it brought forth. Every time it had rained it felt as if the world had gotten a proper wash and a new beginning. It was quite fitting she found.

“We should be quick about it then, your grace,” Jon Connington added impatiently and broke the silence that had settled over them. “Dusk will soon be upon us and we have to hurry if we want to make it back before nightfall.”

“I think you are mistaken, Lord Connington,” Ser Arthur Dayne added in amusement and exchanged a quiet look with her and Rhaegar. “The ceremony shall be held at night. Isn’t that true, my Lady?”

“Quite right, Ser Arthur,” she explained and graced Jon Connington with an apologetic smile. “Wedding ceremonies in the North are commonly held at night. Forgive me, for having to endure these hardships on my account, Lord Connington.”

“Please do not fret about it, my Lady,” Jon Connigton assured her and dipped her head. “Serving his grace is no hardship to me.”

“Indeed,” Ser Richard agreed enthusiastically and pulled his cloak from his shoulders. Lyanna understood why. It was a pleasant day, the gentle sunlight falling through the canopy of the trees. “And in the meantime, we could take care of the horses and get a fire going. We will have need of torches.”

“A good idea,” Rhaegar agreed and brushed his hand over her shoulder. Lyanna shivered at his touch and instinctively angled her head to look at him. It happened so naturally, like breathing. “And my lady love might want to refresh herself, before we are conducting this ceremony.”

Lyanna nodded her head and smiled at Rhaegar. She longed to kiss him and hold him, but she didn’t dare to do it in front of his companions. “I shall go then, my love.”

Rhaegar seemed to sense her predicament, but kept his distance. All he gave her were warm words and a smile.

“I shall see you soon, my love,” she heard Rhaegar’s low voice ringing in her ear as she led her horse away from the men. For the blink of a moment, she felt the urge to turn around, but instead she decided to occupy herself with the next task: her dress.

In truth, Lyanna had never considered what she would wear on her wedding day, but when she laid eyes on the dress she had chosen her heart bubbled with happiness.

It was a simple dress, made of soft grey wool, billowing blue sleeves and grey pelt sewn to the neck. It was not a dress made for a wedding, but all her silk dresses would afford a helping hand she didn’t have. It had been embarrassing enough to ask Benjen to help her, but to ask something like this of Jon Connington, Myles Mooton or Richard Lonmouth would be too much. She could have asked Rhaegar, but even in the North it was considered bad luck to lay eyes on the bride before the wedding.

 _No_ , she chided herself and pulled her dirty riding dress over her shoulders. Stripped down to her smallclothes she slipped on her wool dress and took great care in smoothing out the skirt. At last, she pulled on the pair of blue slippers and fastened her pelted white cloak around her shoulders. It was no proper wedding cloak, because the direwolf embellished on the front was a bit too small, but she didn’t care. Soon she would wear the cloak of a dragon.

“My Lady,” Ser Arthur Dayne’s solemn voice startled her. “Are you decent?”

“I am decent, Ser Arthur,” she replied promptly and emerged from the holly bush she had used to hide her nakedness. He carried a torch to lighten the encroaching darkness. “You may look.”

Ser Arthur’s dark violet eyes washed over her form, a nervous feeling taking hold of Lyanna.

“Is this appropriate?” she asked anxiously. “I cannot say that I have ever cared about wearing the newest dresses, but I want this to be proper…”

“You have nothing to fear in that regard, my lady,” Ser Arthur assured her and stepped closer, his white cloak fluttering behind him like the plumage of a bird. He was a tall man, at least a head taller than Rhaegar, but he looked slightly younger than his Prince. “I think his grace will be pleased, though I think something is missing…,” he trailed off.

Lyanna was surprised and brushed her locks over her shoulder. She had chosen to wear it open for this special occasion, the way she liked it best. Wild and untamed like the maid from Rhaegar’s song.

“Oh, please tell me,” she prodded gently and looked down at her dress. “I want this to be special. Please, tell me what is missing.”

“Flowers,” Ser Arthur explained in a quiet tone and rummaged through the vest of his cloak. “I think your hair needs flowers.”

Lyanna blushed in embarrassment. She had completely forgotten about that and it made her think back on the flower crown Rhaegar had gifted her. Had Robert not burned it she could have worn it for this special occasion.

“I agree,” she replied in a flustered tone. “I suppose I will have to pluck a handful of wildflowers…,” she continued, but Ser Arthur’s shaking head silenced her.

“I think this should do, my Lady,” Ser Arthur added and finally revealed what he had been searching for in his cloak.

Lyanna gasped when saw the blue winter rose.

“How did you know?” she asked.

“Prince Rhaegar told me about your preference for these kinds of flowers and I also heard about the unfortunate fate of your crown,” he explained and opened his gloved hand. “I thought it fitting.”

Lyanna didn’t know what to say and took the single flower from Ser Arthur’s hand to place it into her hair.

“How do I look?” she asked nervously.

“Beautiful,” Ser Arthur replied softly, his voice nearly drowned out by the whispering wind. “My friend is lucky to have you, my Lady.”

Lyanna was surprised to hear such words from Ser Arthur’s mouth. He was always so controlled and serious, a true knight of the Kingsguard, but now he had spoken like a common man, a friend.

“Do you mean it?” she asked in disbelief. “I haven’t known the Prince for longer than a week…,” she continued, but Ser Arthur’s smile cut her off.

“True,” Ser Arthur confirmed and offered his hand to her. “But I have known Prince Rhaegar for many years and never once have I seen him smile so much as in your presence, my Lady. I think you shall be a great comfort to him on the dark path that lies ahead of him.”

Ser Arthur’s words warmed her heart, though she too feared the uncertain future lying ahead of them.

Yet today she didn’t want to think of these dark clouds gathering at the distant horizon. No, she didn’t want to think of her father, Ned, Brandon, the King and most of all she wanted to banish Robert Baratheon from her mind. Once this day was over he would never be able to lay claim on her again. She would have what she always desired. The freedom to decide her own future.

Thus, she smiled and took Ser Arthur’s hand without further hesitation.

“Shall we join the others?”

Ser Arthur returned her smile and dipped his head.

“Certainly, my Lady.”

The sky had changed to a velvet blue color when they joined the others beneath the large weirwood tree. Like Ser Arthur, Richard Lonmouth, Jon Connington and Ser Myles carried torches to lighten the darkness that had settled over them. In the North weddings were usually held during a full moon, but they had no time to wait that long. No, they had to be satisfied with the thin silver crest and the glimmering stars blessing their union.

The only one missing was Rhaegar, who appeared a moment later.

He too had changed into finer clothing, a white tunic, black breeches, polished boots and a dark velvet cloak decorated with glittering rubies that formed the Targaryen sigil, a snarling three-headed dragon.

He had even unbraided his hair, a seldom sight. She wondered if he knew how often she had longed to brush her fingers through his silver tresses.

Yet it was the small silver circlet he carried in his hands that surprised her the most.

“A crown,” she said in a stunned voice. “For me?”

“Of course,” Rhaegar confirmed and graced her with a warm smile. “Though this one is only for formality’ sakes. You shall have a proper one like Elia.”

Lyanna swallowed hard at the mention of the Princess. Rhaegar had assured her that she had given her approval to this match, but Lyanna still felt anxious when she thought of meeting properly.

“That is not necessary…,” Lyanna she assured him, but Rhaegar shook his head and graced her with a soft smile.

“You are to be my wife,” he insisted and handed the crown to Ser Arthur. “My wife must have  a crown.”

Then, he offered his hand to her.

Lyanna gulped and nodded her head as she took his hand. Together they turned and walked towards the grotesque grimace engraved in the heart tree.

In the North they had no Septons to preside over weddings. Customarily someone, preferably the father, would hand the bride over to the groom, but the essential part was the weirwood tree, the bride and the groom.

“Who comes before the gods tonight?” Ser Arthur’s soft voice rang in her ears as her heart stirred to life. She breathed deeply as she took in his tall form engulfed in moonlight and the way his dark eyes twinkled in the flickering torchlight.

Then, she exhaled deeply and finally found her voice.

“Lady Lyanna Stark, a maid flowered, trueborn and noble, comes to be wed.”

“Who comes to claim her?” Ser Arthur asked, his gaze darting to Rhaegar, a mild smile curling on his lips.

“Prince Rhaegar Targaryen comes to claim her,” Rhaegar replied quietly, his hand squeezing hers tightly as if he was afraid she might change her mind and run away.

“Do you take this man?” Ser Arthur asked Lyanna.

Lyanna sucked in a mouthful of air, to calm herself.

 _That’s it_ , she thought.  _There is no turning back._

“I take this man,” she confirmed softly and squeezed his hand.

Smiling softly, Rhaegar released her hand and leaned over to untie the laces of her cloak. Ever carefully, he removed the garment from her shoulders and handed it to Ser Arthur. Then, he untied his own cloak, placed the soft garment on her shoulders and secured it with the clasp wrought in the form of a silver dragon head.

As she turned around she found Rhaegar holding the crown.  _Her crown._

Lyanna could neither speak nor breathe as Rhaegar placed the silver circlet upon her head.

“I crown you Princess of the Seven Kingdoms,” he declared solemnly and leaned down to place a chaste kiss to her lips.

He lingered no longer than a heartbeat, before his gaze darted back to his companions.

“You may leave us now,” Rhaegar told his companions. “I thank you for your help, my friends.”

“I am always pleased to serve, your grace,” Jon Connington replied and bowed deeply before taking his leave.

Next came Ser Richard, who took her hand and kissed it.

“A pity, Lord Robert couldn’t be here to see it,” he japed and disappeared with a smile lingering on his lips.

Myles Mooton was as polite as ever as he dipped his head.

“It was a pleasure to serve, your grace,” he declared, before he turned to look at Lyanna. “and you, Princess.”

Rhaegar smiled and leaned over to touch his shoulder.

“And I am blessed to have such loyal friends at my disposal. You shall be handsomely rewarded once I have taken the crown. This I promise, my friend.”

Myles Mooton smiled and lowered his head.

“Certainly, your grace.”

At last, Ser Arthur took his leave, disappearing in the darkness of the woods.

Lyanna didn’t know why, but for whatever reason she felt like a lost child, unsure what to do.

“What now?” she asked and fiddled with the hem of her dress. She had grown up with three brothers and knew enough about men to understand how “bedding” worked, but knowing something was very different from doing it.

“Whatever you want, love,” Rhaegar replied and wrapped his hand around her shoulder, holding her close. Yet she saw the longing in his gaze. “Just say it.”

Lyanna knew then what she wanted and lifted her hand to touch his cheek. He didn’t seem to mind, because he closed his eyes and leaned into her touch.

Her heart skipped a beat when he angled his head to the side and placed a soft kiss on her fingers.

Lyanna smiled and gathered her courage. Trembling, she lifted her hand and touched his silver hair. She was surprised how soft it felt, but wasn’t allowed to continue, for a heartbeat later she was clutched to his chest his soft lips on hers, devouring her. Lyanna opened her mouth, allowing him to deepen the kiss and the familiar tendrils of pleasure jolted through his body.

Yet a moment later he let go of her. She felt the urge to shout at him in frustration, but when he started to fumble with the cloak she realized that he had no intention to stop and that he wanted this just as much as hear.

“Damn it,” Rhaegar cursed as he fiddled with the clasp of her cloak, the darkness making it hard to see anything other than their moon-lit forms.

Lyanna chuckled and decided to help him, her nimble fingers soon able to open the clasp. She was surprised by herself when the black cloak fluttered down to the ground. Not wasting more time, she pulled off the dress and dropped it on the ground. Beneath she only wore a white tunic and her slippers, which she discarded a moment later. Rhaegar, probably not wanting to be left behind, did the same with his tunic and boots, leaving him only garbed in his breeches.

“Come here,” he prodded gently and spread his arms wide. “You must be cold.”

Lyanna didn’t know why, but his comment made her laugh. She was of the North. The cold was her friend, not her enemy.

“Did I say something funny?” Rhaegar asked teasingly and bridged the distance, his right hand coming to rest on her cheek and the other one on her waist, drawing her ever closer.

“Nothing,” she whispered, all amusement forgotten when his lips were so close to hers. Trembling, she lifted herself to her toes and kissed him, her lips brushing over his ever slightly.

Rhaegar spoke no word, before he drew her closer and deepened the kiss, one hand brushing over her thigh and the other one touching her breast.

His touch made her gasp and she lost herself to the sensations washing over her.

How she had suddenly ended up on the soft grass she couldn’t remember, but she didn’t care. Not when his soft lips were kissing her belly and his hands were fondling her breasts.

She gritted her teeth, then sighed and at least gasped when his lips found the place between her parted legs.

“Gods,” she found herself half cursing and half sighing as she closed her eyes, hoping to gain a semblance control over the whirl of feelings overcoming her as he continued to stroke her. “Gods be good...”

It came all so sudden, the blackness that took away her consciousness and turned her mind into jelly.

As she opened her eyes again, she found him smiling down at her.

Lyanna’s cheeks burned when she realized the wetness between her legs.

“Are you well?” Rhaegar asked, as if he was not quite sure what to make of her sudden silence.

“I am well,” she stuttered, still at a loss of words. He pulled himself up, his body brushing against hers as he placed himself between her legs. “I am well.”

She felt him then.

Her breathing only quickened as he leaned ever closer, his lips barely touching hers.

“I wasn’t sure if you would like that,” he admitted sweetly. “I do not have much practice in it though.”

Lyanna gave him a disbelieving look, but didn’t waste more time to seize his lips once more while her hand trailed down towards his breeches.

She hesitated for a moment, but when he didn’t stop her she pulled on the laces of his strings and freed him.

Rhaegar gasped at her touch, his lips leaving hers and his head brushing against her cheek.

He moved slightly to lean over her, his dark gaze meeting hers, frozen in time.

Lyanna sighed in frustration.

“Why did you stop?”

He frowned, a mix of anxiety and excitement written over his face.

“It might hurt.”

“I know that,” she complained impatiently. “But that is no reason to stop.”

He chuckled, all tension seemingly leaving his body as he pressed his body to hers and slid inside her wetness.

It did hurt though, albeit only briefly. It felt like a sharp sting that dissipated into nothingness as he sunk deeper inside her, a hoarse grunt leaving his mouth.

Lyanna closed her eyes for a moment, trying to adjust to the new feeling as she wrapped her hands around his shoulders.

Once her breathing had settled, she opened her eyes and realized that he was still not moving, his brows furred in concentration as if it took all his concentration to remain still.

“I am well,” she whispered gently and lifted her hand to touch his cheek. “Truly, I am well.”

He sighed deeply, his lips seeking hers as he pulled back and drove back inside her. It was a slow and cautious rhythm that was not enough to still the ache inside her.

She needed more, to feel him deep inside her.

Instinctively, she pulled up her legs and he slid deeper, tearing another grunt from his lips as she started to move her hips against his.

This seemed to rouse something inside him and made him forget about his caution. In a wild rush of desire he seized her lips and sped up his pace, his hips crushing into hers and her feet pulled higher.

He pounded into her once, twice and a third time, before a last grunt tore from his lips.

Then, he went still, a pleasant warmth spreading through the bottom of her belly.

She didn’t dare to move for a long time until his breathing had settled, his head resting on her shoulder. Then, he moved to lie down beside her and pulled her closer.

Only then did she dare to speak, her voice slightly strained.

“What now?” she asked for no reason. It was the first thing that came to her mind. “Will we go to Dragonstone?”

She knew of course where they would go, but Dragonstone meant nothing to her and she feared the uncertainty of the future.

“Aye,” he confirmed and placed a kiss on her cheek. “But first I want to show my favorite place in the world.”

Lyanna nodded her head, both happy and afraid that he was willing to bare his secrets to her.

Smiling, she lifted her hand and brushed it through his disheveled hair.

“I shall follow you wherever you go.”

…

 


	16. Jon

**Jon Arryn**

Jon was listening to the dribbling sound of the rain and took comfort in the warmth of the fire. The raining had started early in the morning while the lords and ladies were beginning to pack up their camp, but by now the rain had changed to a constant drizzle and mist. Not long ago, he had walked through the camp, the earth beneath his feet soaked and soft. If they were lucky they would be able to depart on the morrow, though a bit later than expected.

Jon had enjoyed the tourney, but given Robert’s ill moot it was probably for the best that they were going to leave. That his betrothed, Lady Lyanna Stark, had left with the royal party had angered Robert greatly, but then the boy had always been prone to bouts of anger.

 _He will calm down soon enough_ , Jon was sure and shifted his attention to Ned and Elbert Arryn. Elbert was reading in a dusty book while Ned was watching the curling flames, a half-drowned cup of summerwine in hand.

Ned’s expression could only be called distraught.

“You looked worried, my boy,” Jon Arryn remarked carefully and addressed the elephant in the room.

Ned lifted his head, his cheeks slight flushed as he met Jon's gaze.

“Is that so obvious, my lord?” the Ned asked him, his voice laced with obvious embarrassment.

Jon couldn’t help but to chuckle and poured fresh wine in his cup.

“It is quite obvious, my boy,” Jon explained and graced the boy with an encouraging smile. “You look like you are about to attend a funeral. Now, tell me. Is it about your sister?”

Ned nodded his head in confirmation and placed his cup on the table in front of him.

“It is true. I worry about her and Robert…he is very upset. I could scarcely calm his temper. And this every evening…when I wanted to visit him…I found him in company of two ladies.”

Jon noticed the discomfort in Ned’s voice and couldn’t help but to laugh. Ned was such precious boy, so shy and proper around ladies that it was almost endearing. It was such a sharp contrast to Robert, but Jon believed that this was the reason for their close friendship.

They complimented each other. Robert had the ability to make Ned forget about his gloominess and Ned had a calming influence on the hot-headed Lord of the Stormlands.

Jon himself had not been a pious man in his youth, though he doubted Ned would believe him if he told him about his philandering. He may have been better at hiding his affairs than Robert, though after two fruitless marriages it had been no surprise to him anymore that none of his lovers had borne him a child.

No living child would ever be born from his lions. It was something he had made peace with.

His heir would be Elbert Arryn, the young man seated in corner of the room.

He was a good boy, but he had nothing of his father’s abilities.

 _He will need a proper wife_ , Jon realized and had yet to decide in this matter. In truth, he had wanted to convince Lord Rickard to wed Elbert to Lady Lyanna, but the girl had enchanted Robert the moment he had laid eyes on her and with Ned’s encouragement he had proposed to Lord Rickard.

Jon had been upset that the boys hadn’t consulted him in this matter, considering his hopes for Robert’s future, but he hadn’t been able to destroy Robert’s happiness.

Now, after he had met the girl in person, Jon felt as if his worry had doubled. Ned had described her as a pretty and charming girl, but Jon had seen little of that. The girl had been pretty enough and there was a certain charm to her bluntness, but most people in the south wouldn’t see it that way and Jon Arryn was one of them.

Lady Lyanna had a pretty face, but she lacked something essential. She was one of these thoughtless girls who seemed completely unaware of their place in society.

A lady like her, who was playing with swords would cast a very bad light on Robert, though it seemed that it was this act of courage that had compelled the Prince to crown the girl Queen of Love and Beauty.

At first, Jon had believed that it had been an impulsive act of infatuation, but now after Princess Elia had asked Lady Lyanna to join her ladies, he was beginning to think that there was much more to the Prince’s actions…

_Could it be that the Prince is aware of our plans?_

“My lord,” Ned’s soft-spoken voice called him back to the present. “Did you hear what I said?”

Jon shook his head and brushed away these dark thoughts.

“I heard you…you found Robert in company of two ladies,” Jon repeated and graced Ned with an assuring smile. “Though I do not quite understand why that worries you so, my boy. If anything it is a good sign that Robert is on the road of recovery. Give him a few days and he will forget about his anger.”

“That’s not the only reason I am worried, my lord,” Ned replied, his voice laced with displeasure. “But don’t you think it is a bit unseemly of him to act like this? When I visited my sister in Winterfell I assured her that Robert’s going to better himself. I understand that he has _needs_ , but I had hoped that he would begin to conduct himself with more dignity now that he is betrothed to my sister.”

Jon nodded his head in agreement, because to a certain extend he shared Ned’s worries about Robert. The boy’s thirst for wine and women was troublesome, but then Jon would be a hypocrite if he judged him for it.

“I hear you, my boy,” Jon replied gently and stroked his greying beard. “But I think it is only a matter of time. Most young men calm down once they are wed.”

Ned exhaled deeply. He didn’t seem satisfied with Jon’s answer and ruffled his hair in frustration.

“I fear Robert earned my sister’s displeasure,” Ned explained. “Otherwise she wouldn’t have agreed to join the Princess’ Elias ladies. She never held much interest in such things, but she obviously agreed, because Robert forbade it. Yet that is not my greatest fear, my lord. I think Brandon is right…the Prince is up to something.”

 _Probably_ , Jon agreed inwardly. _Why else crown the girl Queen of Love and Beauty?_

Jon had wrecked his brain about this matter, but his most hopeful conclusion was that the Prince was simply infatuated with Lady Lyanna. That the Princess Elia had helped him in this matter wouldn’t surprise him either, given the rumors that were circulating about her. Some even say the Princess Rhaenys had been fathered by her Uncle Lewyn and that the King had threatened to kill the Princess for her failure of bearing a child with Targaryen features. Jon couldn’t say that he fully trusted these rumors, but the Dornish were known for their lack of virtue and Princess Elia’s brother, Prince Oberyn Martell embodied all these bad qualities. He had supposedly bedded women from all the Seven Kingdoms, had fathered several bastards and had even taken his squire to bed, a though that made bile rise in Jon Arryn’s throat.

Yet he couldn’t bring himself to tell Ned. He didn’t wish to worry the boy more than necessary.

Thus, he gave Ned a calming smile and refilled his cup.

“Forget about your worries, my boy,” Jon declared. “She may not be enthusiastic about the match, but Robert will tame her soon enough.”

Ned didn’t seem re-assured by his words.

“My sister has always been like this, my lord,” Ned countered and took a hesitant sip from his cup. “I had hoped Robert would be more understanding about her inclinations, but it seemed I was wrong about that. He had been very wroth about her actions.”

“Why does that surprise you, my boy?” Jon couldn’t help but to ask. He understood the love of a brother for a sister, but it was becoming clearer and clearer to him that Lady Lyanna had been blatantly spoiled. The girl was in dire need of a firm hand to guide her. “Robert’s lords would laugh at him for running about with a sword. Your sister is at fault here, not Robert.”

Ned sighed deeply and shrugged his shoulders.

“Mayhaps you are right, my lord,” Ned added and rose to his feet, his expression weary and lost. Then, he smiled, though it barely reached his face. “I shall seek out my bed. We have a long road ahead of us.”

“Indeed,” Jon agreed and lifted his cup. “Sleep well, my boy.”

Once Ned had left, only Elbert lifted his head and put his book away.

“I shall retire as well, my lord,” he explained curtly and rose to his feet. “The day has been too long.”

“I agree,” Jon added and poured the last bits of summerwine down his throat. “The day has been too long.”

Elbert dipped his head in silence and slipped out of the tent, leaving only Jon and the dribbling rain to keep him company.

Jon didn’t know why, but a certain melancholy took hold of him as thought of Ned, Robert and Elbert.

 _I shouldn’t have lied to Ned_ , he thought and poured Ned’s leftover wine into his cup. _That was cruel of me._

The boy could never know why Jon had supported Lady Lyanna’s decision to join Princess Elia’s ladies.

In truth, Robert would not benefit from a marriage to Lady Lyanna. On the contrary, it would be quite convenient for their cause if Prince Rhaegar was foolish enough to take the girl to bed.

A spoiled bride would not only prevent such a match, but could also provide the right motivation for Robert to forget about his whoring and seize the future…

Jon was an old man, but history had taught that it is often only a matter of time before all great dynasties crumble to dust.

The Targaryens shared that faith or at least that was Jon’s impression. Aegon the Unlikely had been a passable King, King Jaehaerys had barely ruled for two years and King Aerys, well, King Aerys was just another sign of this rotting dynasty.

In his youth King Aerys had been a promising King, though most of his successes had been the work of his Hand, Lord Tywin Lannister. Then, the Defiance of Duskendale had happened and had stolen the King’s sanity.

Westeros was in the thralls of a madman and what little Jon had seen and heard about Prince Rhaegar didn’t impress him.

The Prince was handsome man, but that was no testament to a man’s virtue

And the Prince’s supposed obsession with prophecy and dragons troubled Jon the most the most.

Aegon the Unlikely’s obsession with dragons had killed half his family.

No, Westeros didn’t need another Summerhall.

But to bring about such a change Robert would have to wed the right kind of woman.

The support of the Riverlands, the Vale, the Stormlands and the North wouldn’t be enough to make Robert King, but with the power of the Westerlands behind them it could be done. Sadly, that would make it necessary to give Lady Cersei Lannister a crown, something Robert would never agree to, unless Lady Lyanna joined the Prince’s bed…

Robert would rage, but in the end he would surely see reason and accept his fate.

 _Lady Cersei is said to be very beautiful_ , Jon told himself and emptied his cup. _Robert will forget about Lady Lyanna soon enough._

And regarding Lady Lyanna. Well, they would have to find a match for the girl to save her honor, but even Rickard Stark wouldn’t be able to demand more than that.

…


	17. Rhaegar

**Rhaegar**

Rhaegar watched the sun descending in the east.

The road before them was broad and cobbled, but the bouts of rain had delayed their ravel. More than once, they had to take shelter beneath the fir trees that were so common to these lands.

“The sky promises more rain, your grace,” Arthur remarked, his white cloak turned grey by the arrival of dusk. “We should make camp.”

Rhaegar couldn’t help but to frown. He had hoped to make it to Summerhall before nightfall.

“I think we can make it, Arthur,” Rhaegar countered and glimpsed over his shoulder at Lyanna. She had put on her riding garb: dark leggings, boots, a cloak and a leather belt to keep her long-sleeved tunic in place.

She smiled sweetly when she noticed his staring.

“Do you think you can endure the rain, my Lady?”

Lyanna’s smile brightened and she nodded her head in confirmation, her loose brown hair spilling over her shoulders.

“I think I can endure the rain, my love.”

Arthur sighed and jerked his head at the distant road, a dozen of guardsmen forming their rearguard. Like Rhaegar and Arthur they had donned simple clothing to hide their identity. These lands belonged to his cousin, the Lord of the Stormlands and Rhaegar doubted he would appreciate their presence here.

Thus, they continued to follow the road, the thick canopy of trees giving away to a landscape of rolling hills and fields. Now and then Rhaegar spotted a lone tree casting a shadow against the moonlit ground.

By the time they had reached a familiar brook curling around a steep valley the first stars were flickering on the distant sky. They looked like small diamonds thrown on an inky cloak.

Rhaegar felt relief washing over him and shifted his attention to Lyanna.

“Summerhall is not far,” he assured her and received a warm smile in return.

By now even Lyanna must be exhausted. They had ridden from dust till dawn and had only stopped to make water or to take a hastily-made meal, before continuing with their travel. Yet not a single complaint had spilled from his lady’s lips.

 _She is a stubborn one_ , Rhaegar remarked in amusement after he had noticed her drooping eyes.

The moon hovered high above the shadowed ruins as they made their way along the thinning path covered by fallen trees and thick foliage. This had once been a road, leading to the summer palace of House Targaryen, but these days hardly anyone travelled to Summerhall. These lands had long been deserted and some said that they were cursed.

Rhaegar had been ten years old when he first came here. Here, beneath the white walls of Summerhall his mother had birthed him while the rest of his family had been turned to ashes.

Once he had dared to ask his mother about Summerhall, but what he had received was a cold rebuke.

 _Do not ever ask me about this night_ , his mother had asked of him.  _Let them rest._

And Rhaegar might have followed his mother’s advice had he not been plagued by these strange visions disturbing him every night. It were these visions and his grandfather’s belief in prophecy that had made him start collecting old tales and prophecies from all over the world.

“Will we go to the castle?” Lyanna asked, her voice laced with excitement. The touch of her hand on his shoulder had startled him, but in a good way. Ever since, they had consummated their marriage he had craved for her warmth.

“Not tonight. We need to rest. We build our camp here.”

“The Seven be blessed,” Arthur muttered and led his horse towards the curling brook. “It is better to stay away from the ruins during the night.”

“Why?” Lyanna asked amusedly and brushed back the hood of her cloak. “Are you frightened of ghosts, Ser Arthur?”

“No, but I am afraid of getting squashed by rubble,” Arthur explained and glanced over to Rhaegar. “This is not my first visit here. Prince Rhaegar holds a certain fondness for this place.”

Lyanna turned to look at Rhaegar, her grey eyes wide and full like the moon above.

“Is it wise to go there?” she asked suddenly.

“At night it is dangerous,” Rhaegar confirmed and leaned over to squeeze her hand. “But during the day it is easy to find one’s way through the blackened ruins. Arthur is only trying to repay you for teasing him.”

“Traitor,” Arthur snorted, though his smile told Rhaegar that he was amused.

“You look tired,” Rhaegar remarked and touched Lyanna’s cheek. Her gaze was following Arthur, who had promised to take care of their men and horses. “Let’s settle down.”

“I could help,” she suggested, but Rhaegar wanted to hear none of it.

“You need rest,” Rhaegar told her and leaned down to place a kiss on her brow. “Come.”

Rhaegar expected protest, but it seemed Lyanna was too exhausted to complain. Instead she followed him down the grassy slope, a small patch of wood spreading over a slope. There, he spread the bundle of blankets he had untied from his horse and jerked his head at the makeshift bed.

“Lie down, love,” he prodded gently and she obeyed, though she remained in a sitting position, her cloak spread wide around her body. She was almost disappearing in the large pelted garb made of dark wool. “Sleep if you can. I shall offer my help to Ser Arthur.”

She nodded her head in understanding, though her smile told him that she had no intention to go to sleep without him.

Rhaegar felt his baser instincts wake, but brushed those thoughts away, before returning to Arthur to offer his help.

Taking care of the horses didn’t take long and soon he returned to his sleeping place, just beyond the slope and perhaps a hundred feet away from the brook where they had fed the horses. Rhaegar had chosen this place to give them privacy.

“You are still awake,” Rhaegar couldn’t help but to tease Lyanna. “Are you not tired?”

“Very,” she confirmed without hesitation and rested her head on his chest. “But I wanted to wait for you. Does that bother you?”

Rhaegar chuckled and brushed his hand through her hair.

“Of course not,” Rhaegar answered softly and angled his head to place a kiss on her cheek, before casting his eyes to the sea of stars spreading above his head.

“The stars are beautiful tonight,” he remarked for no particular reason.

“They are so bright,” she agreed and took his hand. “Much brighter than in Harrenhall.”

“That’s the magic of Summerhall,” Rhaegar explained and squeezed her hand. “Though many people believe this place to be cursed.”

“And do you believe them?” Lyanna asked curiously.

“No,” Rhaegar replied without hesitation. “I have visited this place a good hundred times and I have never seen a ghost. This place is not cursed, but tainted with sadness. It is a place of broken dreams.”

As if roused by his words, Lyanna sat up and gave him a confused look.

“Broken dreams? So, it is true what they say…Did King Aegon really try to hatch dragons?”

“Aye,” Rhaegar confirmed. “Aegon wanted to hatch dragons. And why not? House Targaryen rose to power through their dragons. Without them House Targaryen is doomed to extinction. But I think there was another reason for his obsession with dragons…” Rhaegar trailed off, suddenly realizing that he had said too much.

“What is it?” Lyanna asked impatiently and pulled on his shoulder. “Is it a secret?”

Rhaegar sighed and rolled to the side, his arm brushing over her shoulder. Rhaegar had thought long and hard how he would tell her about the prophecy his grandfather and grand-grandfather had believed in.

“It is about a prophecy,” Rhaegar replied at last and lifted his hand to caress her cheek. “Prince Duncan’s wife Jenny of Oldstone brought a woodswitch to court…She prophesied that a prince would be born from his line, meant to restore eternal spring to the world… _The Prince that was Promised_. It was the reason my mother was forcefully wed to my father. For some time, I believed myself to be this promised prince. The prophecy said…the prince would be born amidst smoke and salt. I was born here beneath the smoking ruins of Summerhall and the salty tears this event had brought. Yet there is a part of this prophecy I didn’t fulfil. My birth didn’t wake dragons from stone. Instead they all died, burned to ash…and ever since I have tried to find this prince.”

Lyanna had listened attentively and now she was staring at him, her mouth slightly agape.

“And you believe in this prophecy?” she asked, her voice laced with doubt.

“I do not know,” Rhaegar voiced his doubts and dropped his hand from her shoulder. He expected her to pull away, to call him mad or other names. When he had told Elia she had laughed in amusement asking him if he needed a Maester, but when she realized that he was serious about this matter she had begun to show more understanding, though Rhaegar doubted she fully believed him. Not that he blamed her. Most people would be skeptical. “But my investigations have confirmed my believes… I do not know if you are familiar with these tales…Have you ever heard about the Last Hero?”

Realization washed over her face and a smile curled on her lips.

“He defeated the Others,” she confirmed and nodded her head. “Its Benjen’s favorite tale. He always liked the scary tales the best.”

Rhaegar felt relief washing over him. It was foundation he could build on.

“There are many stories about such heroes, not only in Westeros, but also in Essos. Hyrkoon the Hero, Yin Tar, Neferion and Edric Shadowchaser are only one of many names for this hero, though the most prominent name for him is Azor Azhai. They say he forged the legendary sword Lightbringer by plunging it in the heart of his beloved and banished away the darkness that was threatening to engulf the world. The Long Night they called it. Sounds very familiar, doesn’t it?”

Lyanna nodded her head. “It does… But what does this Azor Ahai has to do with this promised prince?”

“Everything,” Rhaegar explained and leaned closer to place a kiss on her brow. Then, he sighed deeply and touched her cheek, forcing her to look at him. “The followers of the Red God believe this… _There will come a day after a long summer when the stars bleed and the cold breath of darkness falls heavy on the world. In this dread hour a warrior shall draw from the fire a burning sword. And that sword shall be Lightbringer, the Red Sword of Heroes and he who clasps it shall be Azor Ahai come again and all darkness shall flee before him_. The promised prince is only a different name for the man or woman reborn as this Azor Ahai or whatever name you want to give him or her.”

“Man or…woman?” Lyanna asked in confusion. “A prince can be a woman?”

Rhaegar couldn’t help but to chuckle.

“These prophecies were written in Ancient Valyrian. In Valyrian the word prince can also mean princess. My grandfather was a good man, but like most Kings he was more concerned with male heirs. I suppose the idea that  this promised prince could be a woman never occurred to him.”

Surprisingly, Lyanna started to laugh.

“This is utter madness,” she said and leaned closer, her lips brushing over his, but not completely touching. “But this prophecy seems very important to you…Which means it is also important to me. Tell me…Who do you believe is this promised prince or princess?”

 “I do not know…it could be Elia’s babe or one of our future children…or Rhaenys. I do not know. Nothing is certain, my love,” He whispered and leaned closer to kiss her.

The fact that she hadn’t hesitated told him that she was not angry, his gaze searching hers. He needed to hear her thoughts on the matter. “What do you think? Do you think I am mad?

Lyanna chuckled and pulled away from him, her narrowed grey eyes searching his face.

“I don’t think you are mad, but you have to understand my position. It is hard to believe in something that I haven’t seen with my own eyes. Do you understand?”

Rhaegar sighed in relief and smiled at her. “I understand.”

Then, he leaned down and kissed her properly, opening her mouth. Lyanna arched up to meet his kiss and suddenly they were tearing off each other’s clothes, her fingers working on the laces of his breeches and his hands brushing up her skirt. She helped him eagerly and pulled her smallclothes down her naked legs, before sitting down in his lap. Her touch was enough to stir the fire in his gut, making him forget all reason and sense.

Breathless from their kissing, he let go of her mouth and placed kisses down her thighs and then between her legs.

Lyanna gasped and grabbed his shoulders tightly as he kissed her between her legs. Soft moans were soon leaving her mouth, her body trembling with excitement.

Suddenly, a deep sigh left her mouth and she shuddered in his arms, before becoming completely still.

“Does it always feel that good?” she asked him breathlessly.

Rhaegar couldn’t help but to grin and lay back on the ground, his hands pulling Lyanna on top of him. “This will feel even better.”

She returned his grin and seemed to understand his intentions. She touched him, first cautiously and then with more favor, before lowering herself onto him. A grunt left his mouth and he wanted to sit up, but Lyanna pushed him back down, her slender fingers firmly placed on his chest as she rolled her hips.

It was almost too much, the slow rhythm she set. Eventually, he couldn’t endure it anylonger enough and sat up to kiss her deeply. Lyanna instinctively increased her pace and grabbed his shoulders tightly, shuddering in his arms as she arched her hips.

It was enough to make him lose his patience. He flapped her over and pushed into her with a few quick thrusts until his release washed over him like a wild storm, a satisfied groan leaving his mouth.

He rolled off her and gathered her in his arms. She smiled up at him, her lips swollen and her skirts as tousled as her air.

“That was indeed better than last time,” she remarked cheerfully and rose to her feet. “But now I have to wash myself again.”

Rhaegar nodded his head in understanding.

“The brook should do, but do not stay away too long, my love.”

Lyanna grinned as she disappeared into the thick foliage growing along the curling brook.

Rhaegar was half asleep when she returned and leaned her head on his chest.

“I apologize,” she whispered. “I got lost in the darkness.”

Rhaegar chuckled and placed a kiss on her cheek.

“Sleep now. Tomorrow I shall show you Summerhall in all its faded glory.”

…


	18. Rickard

**Rickard**

 

“There is no doubt about it, my lord,” muttered his loyal Maester Walys. He was a stocky man with a receding hairline and two blinking green eyes. “This is the sigil of the Lord of Dragonstone. This letter was written by Prince Rhaegar’s hands.”

“I never doubted the validity of the letter,” Rickard muttered and folded the piece of paper, before handing it back to Maester Walys. “But I have yet to discover the Prince’s motives. Do you think it is possible that he found out about  _our_  plans?”

“Very possible, my lord,” Walys agreed. “The King has the Spider. Lord Varys is known far and wide for his well-trained spies. His little birds.”

“Here in the North?” Rickard asked. “Do you really think the King is that paranoid?”

“The King is a madman of the strongest sort,” Maester Walys confirmed and stroked his grey bird. “King Aerys might not have a dragon at his command, but the rumors say he has the cruelty of an Maegor. It is in his blood.”

Rickard wished it was otherwise, but it was true. Lord Rickard had seen the first sparks of the King’s madness. Back then, King Aerys had put it into his mind to build a second Wall and had even cited Lord Rickard to the capital. Rickard still recalled how he had feasted with the King and all the important lords of the realm, among them Lord Steffon Baratheon and Lord Twyin Lannister. He still recalled with how much passion the King had laid out his foolish plans. Luckily, Lord Steffon Baratheon had been able to distract his mind elsewhere and Rickard had been  to allowed to return to the North.

Yet gone where the times when reasonable man like Tywin Lannister and Steffon Baratheon had ruled the Iron Throne. One had died and the other had pleaded for sickness after his son’s admission to the Kingsguard.

Rickard had supported Walys idea of an allegiance with the Riverlands, the Vale and the Stormlands, because he had hoped to bring about a proper change, but it seemed the Prince had proved smarter than expected.

By luring his daughter into his lair he had taken a useful hostage and had delayed or perhaps even thwarted their plans.

Hearing that Lyanna was now in the hands of the Mad King had filled him with a dread he couldn’t describe.

“Mayhaps all of this was a mistake,” Rickard bared his worries to his loyal Maester. “Mayhaps I should have never allowed myself to be lured into these games. I am a man of the North and the Starks have rarely concerned themselves with the games of these southron lords. There must be a reason for my forebearers hesitance.”

“My lord,” Maester Walys admonished gently and shook his head. “You mustn’t blame yourself. It is quite clear that the Prince tried to flatter your daughter by crowning her Queen of Love and Beauty. That girl must have fallen prey to the Prince’s charm like so many maids before her, though that doesn’t necessarily mean the Prince intends to take her to bed. As you said…she is his hostage, but I am sure the Prince has no need of a child like Lady Lyanna.”

“I suppose,” Lord Rickard agreed and rose to his feet, his eyes darting to the roaring flames. Hues of orange, yellow and red blurred before his eyes when he thought of his little girl. Lyarra had pleaded with him to take good care of their little girl and had asked of him to make her happy.

Rickard had tried his best to do right by Lyanna. He had allowed her to train horsemanship with her brothers and had even allowed her to practice archery. Her greatest wish, to carry a sword, he had denied her, but he hadn’t lost a word when he found out that Benjen was training her in secret.

When Lyanna had bled, he knew that everything had changed. For years he had wrecked his mind over a proper match for Lyanna and he had considered different candidates from the North and other kingdoms. Eventually, he had set his mind on Lord Elbert Arryn, the heir to the Vale. He was a calm and honorable young man, though Jon Arryn seemed to hold little affection for him. Thus, Rickard had allowed himself to be swayed by Robert Baratheon’s offer of betrothal. At first, he had been hesitant, especially after hearing about Lord Baratheon’s reputation, but Ned’s and Jon Arryn’s word had convinced him to accept the match despite his earlier misgivings.

 _Robert won’t mind Lyanna’s spirit_ , Ned had assured him.  _He doesn’t even care that she is not following his gods. He must truly love her._

To see his little girl cared for was all he had ever wanted. Ned had also assured him that Lyanna would come around once she had enough time to meet Lord Baratheon, but it seemed that had been another delusion.

Lyanna was not like other girls. He highly doubted it was infatuation for the Prince that had driven her to accept Princess Elia’s offer to join her ladies-in-waiting.

“She is still my daughter,” Rickard said at last and turned around, his gaze flickering to Maester Walys. “The fact that she was angered about the destruction of the crown the prince had gifted her indicates to me that she might have felt flattered by his actions, but I doubt that was the first reason she agreed to join Princess Elia’s ladies. My Lyanna never held interest in such matters. It must have been her way to repay me for agreeing to her betrothal with Robert Baratheon. Benjen also told me that Lord Baratheon had done little to endear himself to her. I fear I have made a terrible mistake. I fear I must write Lord Baratheon…I shall terminate this betrothal. Mayhaps then my girl can be swayed to return to the arms of her family.”

“My lord,” Maester Walys said in an almost chiding tone. “That would be a grave insult to Lord Baratheon and I doubt Jon Arryn and Lord Hoster would be pleased if you were to endanger this freshly-forged alliance. In the worst-case Lord Hoster might even rethink his match between Lord Brandon and Lady Catelyn. I know that your first choice had been a match between Lady Lyanna and Lord Elbert Arryn, but I doubt Lord Jon Arryn would agree if his beloved ward were to be insulted in such a vile manner.”

Lord Rickard disliked Walys’ council, but he wasn’t wrong. Lord Hoster Tully was a man as clever as he was ambitious. He wouldn’t repay Rickard’s actions with kindness and as much as he wanted to deny the truth, the North had dire need of the corn and gold that Lady Catelyn’s dowry would bring him. Lord Robert Baratheon’s promised was also generous. With it alone he might be able build a dozen of ships and rebuild Moat Cailin. It was a tempting offer he couldn’t deny and yet he felt his heart twisted by guilt.

 _I am selling our little girl for ships and a castle_ , Rickard realized with great sorrow.  _Forgive me, Lyarra. I am foremost the Lord of Winterfell and I must do what is best for our house. Lyanna must learn her place and do her duty. One day she might even be a Queen. That must be enough to still her displeasure._

“And yet my daughter remains a hostage,” Rickard said after he had regained his speech. “What do you suggest?”

A small smile curled on Maester Walys’ lips. It was the kind of smile that told Rickard that he was plotting something.

“I do have an idea, my lord. I suggest holding Lord Brandon’s marriage earlier than anticipated. I do not know Lady Lyanna as well as you, but I am sure she will be adamant to attend Lord Brandon’s wedding.”

“I have to agree,” Rickard agreed and stroked his beard. “Lyanna wouldn’t stay away from Brandon’s wedding. Please continue.”

“My pleasure,” Maester Walys replied and rubbed his hands in satisfaction. “But the rest of my plan is rather simple. Once Lady Lyanna has safely returned our midst we shall have her wed to Lord Robert, who will also be attending Lord Brandon’s wedding. It might cause Lady Lyanna displeasure, but she wouldn’t be able to return to court if she was wedded and bedded.”

The plan made sense, but Rickard held little love for such deception.

And yet it might be the only way to keep Lyanna safe.

_Forgive me, Lyarra._

“I agree to your plan,” he agreed unhappily.

“I shall send out riders to the Eyrie and the Riverlands to inform Lord Arryn and Lord Hoster of our plans. We shall be careful that the Spider doesn’t hear about our plans."

“Indeed,” Maester Walys agreed and smiled. “Indeed.”

…


End file.
